Drabbles of the Caribbean
by geekmama
Summary: It's amazing what you can say in 100 words... or a little more, if the Muse insists.
1. Preface

It's amazing what you can say in 100 words...  
  
Or sometimes a few more.  
  
These short drabbles, double drabbles, and vignettes were all written in response to various challenges issued by the Yahoo Black Pearl Sails group, the MSN Black Pearl Scrolls group, or from Live Journal sources.  
  
I won't put the disclaimer on every page, but believe me, if I owned these I'd be a rich (and happy!) woman. Disney owns 'em. I'm just playing with 'em. 


	2. Theme: The Island

Drabble Challenge: The Island

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**_Considering Miss Swann _**  
  
Actually, if one must be marooned, there were worse companions one could have. Most females'd be setting up a howl at the thought of spending days--maybe weeks--possibly dying--on a hot, waterless pile of sand with no one but Rum and ol' Jack for company.  
  
Unusual girl, Elizabeth. _Miss Swann_. He grinned. Insisting on the proprieties, even in their present situation! And her undaunted assertion that they must "do something" for bloody Will.  
  
Yes. Beautiful. Courageous. Resolute. Even cheerful.   
  
Quite like himself, in fact.  
  
"Another bottle, Captain?"  
  
"Thank you, Miss Swann. Don't mind if I do."  
  
She smiled.


	3. Theme: Luck

Drabble Challenge: Luck (for St. Patrick's Day)

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**_Lady's Luck _**

Favored with good fortune from her birth, she thought fate had turned against her the night cannon fire had split the air, blasting so many dreams apart. They had not come for her, of course, but for the gold. Will's gold. Still, it made little difference: caught, she was, in a story of obsession and revenge, of a curse and ghosts revealed by moonlight.

Overwhelmed by fear, how could she have guessed the taking of that gold those long years ago had been the greatest stroke of luck in her life, and would be the source of her greatest happiness? 


	4. Theme: Freedom

Drabble Challenge: Freedom

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**_Molly Hatter _**  
  
The window was cracked, but clean, with a faded dimity curtain, open to the moonlight. Quiescent now, he lay, black eyes studying her face, languid limbs half-draped against her.  
  
"Molly, is it?"  
  
She hesitated. Then, "Aye. Molly Hatter."  
  
"Hatter?"  
  
She smiled. "From a long line of em." She was silent a moment, then said, "That's what I'm savin' for. I'll have my own shop some day." _And until then..._ Her smile faded a little.  
  
"Are you good, then?" A flash of gold and white at her lifted brow. "At _making hats_, love."  
  
She chuckled. "Aye. I am. My Da' was the best in Coventry. Taught me everything."  
  
He moved against her, eyes laughing. "Not everything."  
  
She pursed her lips. "About _making hats!_" she said, and melted again into his kiss.  
  
When she woke, to thin sunlight and the cool of a new morning, he was gone. She rose, a half smile on her lips, and absently put on her robe. And then she saw it, on the little table, next to the vase of wildflowers: not coins, but a smallish, lumpy sack. Fingers trembling, she opened the sack. Gold. A lot of it.   
  
He'd left a note, too. _Next time I see you I'll be wanting a hat. JS'_


	5. Theme: Jack the Monkey

Drabble Challenge: Jack the Monkey

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**_Jack…the Monkey! _**

Disgusting, dirty beggar. Just like his da', only littler. Probably both flea infested. No real manners, either. Bleedin' animals!

Oh, he's trained, right enough. Knew exactly what he was after, nippin' into the hold, easy as pie, doin' the ol' smash 'n' grab right under the whelp's nose, leavin' the boy there to drown and/or blow up, as the case may be. An' almost before you can think, before you can do anything except yip "Monkey!" an' give chase, the little blighter's handin' over the bloody coin. 

An' then, to crown all, Barbossa's named it Jack. _Jack!_

Bloody stupid monkey. 


	6. Theme: Colors

Drabble Challenge: Colors

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**_Rainbow _**

"Look, Ana. A rainbow!"

She looked, and her scowl faded.

It was late afternoon, and had poured rain all day, until a bit ago when the clouds finally began to break as they approached their sanctuary, where they'd spend some time refitting his ship—_his ship!—_out of Norrington's way.

He'd manned the helm himself all day, at home in the elements, though she'd nagged and berated him: _Go below!_ _Get some rest!_

God knew he needed it. But he'd been too long away.

But now, finally, a reluctant smile touched her lips. Her voice softened. 

"Seems right, don't it?"


	7. Theme: A Deleted Scene

Drabble Challenge: "Deleted" Scene

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**_Pirate By Moonlight _**

"Sparrow!" 

The pirate swung around, braids and beads flying, brows raised in inquiry. "Commodore?"

The reply was low but forceful: a warning. "You will kindly leave Miss Swann alone!"

A slight smile touched his lips, and he said gently, "No worries there, Commodore. As I was just tellin' her, we're too much alike."

"Alike!" There was outrage, and denial in the word. 

The shaggy head tilted. Black eyes watched the Commodore with amused sympathy. Watched him stare, up and down. Watched the subtle play of emotions cross the stoic countenance.

Bitter resistance.

Unwilling consideration.

Reluctant acknowledgement.

Acceptance.

And finally, despair. 


	8. Theme: Faith and Hope

Drabble Theme: Faith and Hope

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**_The Blade of a Sword_**

_"…And for these crimes you have been sentenced to be on this day, hung by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul."_

This was it, then. The end of hope, he thought, as the executioner put the heavy hemp rope around his neck and tightened the knot. The 'hempen jig' – he'd seen others dance it, of course. Some of 'em spittin' death in the eye; others weepin' like women. He'd go for the spittin' himself, thank you very much. So as not to tarnish the legend. 

And the girl was out there, too, somewhere. The Rum Burner. He almost smiled.

He tried to pray, but failed as usual. They'd talk face to face soon anyway, eh?

A bit of commotion—was it just anticipation rippling through the crowd? But wait—there was someone…in a bloody great hat!

The trap was thrown and his eyes widened in terror as the deck vanished. And then his booted toes and his life suddenly caught and balanced on the blade of a sword, the commotion turned to a roar, and hope sprang anew as the son of his best friend once again did something stupid. 

Maybe God had heard anyway. 


	9. Thome: Guilt

Drabble Challenge: Guilt

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**_Guilty _**

There had always been the chance it would end like this. He'd made his choice, years ago, and had few regrets. Sweet Trade. Free Man. _Pirate_.

He listened with some amusement as the charges were read aloud, some entirely false, some grossly exaggerated. But even the least of those that were true was enough to warrant punishment under the law. And taken all together…well, that was why he was standing here, wasn't it?

Condemned. _For a lifetime of wickedness_. And no deed was good enough to remove the guilt of that. Or to merit mercy from anyone, except God. Perhaps.


	10. Theme: Home

Drabble Challenge: Home

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**_Heart to Heart _**

His mother gone, the house was no longer what it had been: his home. His little room--it was she who had placed his bed under the window where he could smell the sea and look at the stars. She who listened to his prayers nightly, in silence, and kissed him, heart speaking to heart. There had been little need for words.

He had been homeless after her death. Lost, in a way, for though the ship on which he had worked his way across the Atlantic should have felt like a kind of home, it did not. There was no soul that spoke to his, no eyes that saw him as anything more than the Cabin Boy.

And then, the horrendous, wrenching disaster that nearly cost him everything—and the waking to the vision that said far more than her words conveyed: "I'll take care of you, Will."

From that moment, he had a home again. No matter what she was, no matter what he was. His heart was hers; his dream of home was in her eyes.

And, miracle of miracles, beyond all sense and reason, it was true. "I do," she said. And he was home indeed.


	11. Theme: HurtComfort

Drabble Challenge: Hurt/Comfort

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**_Something Blue _**

"Commodore!"

"Sparrow?" His gaze focused. "What are you doing here?"

"It's Tortuga. What are you doin' here?"

"I'm…on holiday. Fishing."

"Fishin'? Soaked, more like! How much've you had tonight?"

"I fail to see how that is any business of yours."

"Drownin' your sorrows?"

"I've no idea what you mean." 

"Wedding's next week, innit?"

Norrington slowly sagged. "I suppose you'll say she's not worth it.

Jack considered this. "No," he said, finally. "I wouldn't say that. Not at all." He sat and waved down the barmaid. "Another bottle of your best, love. Me mate and I, we've a wedding to toast." 


	12. Theme: Random Ship Names

Drabble Challenge: Random Ship Names

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**_Guardian _**

Damaged and adrift, the _Pearl_ lay helpless as the frigate approached. Jack would have thought her beautiful, if he'd been unaware of the deck of twenty-four guns, hidden now, but ready for use against his kind.

There was an air of subdued panic as his crew took up arms. Had they survived the tempest, only to be caught and killed, like fish in a barrel?

They had not.

Captain Nathaniel Goodman, former privateer, met Jack with a grin and a firm handshake, and a blessed offer of aid.

Good man, indeed! And as aptly named as his ship: _The Guardian_. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

**_Dragon's Storm _**

She was_ Dragon's Storm_. Her captain, third son of an East India Company merchant, lived in the Orient half his life and knew the significance of dragons: good luck. He'd started with the Company, but smuggling had been his avocation and from there it was but a short step to piracy. Some would have called that bad luck, but he liked a life unencumbered by too many rules. In that sense, it was the ideal existence.

"We have an accord then, Sparrow?"

"Aye! To a profitable alliance!"

"And a lasting friendship." 

Mugs clashed together.

_Black Pearls_ were good luck, too. 


	13. Theme: Nature

Drabble Challenge: Nature

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**_It's a Jungle Out There _**

"It's a fine island, Jack! Lot's of fruit trees, and fresh water, and there'll likely be pigs! Just think of one o' them squealers roastin' over a nice bed o' coals."

"It's thick jungle, Ana. Near down to the waterline!"

"Bloody hell. Who'd ever have thought Captain Jack Sparrow, Terror of the Spanish Main and possessed of as many lives as a damned cat would be afraid of a few snakes!"

"It's not the snakes, luv. Snakes're good eatin', in time o' need."

"Well, what is it then, ye coward?"

"It's the spiders. Give you me word: can't abide 'em."


	14. Theme: No Dialogue

Drabble Challenge: No Dialogue

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**_The Morning After _**  
  
Sun. Warm. Light seeping through eyelids. Morning, then. Sea and island scents. And smoke.  
  
Ah. Last night. The fire. And the rum. Lots of it. Too much. And no food.  
  
He recalled dancing. And singing. Good song, that! Full of surprises, was Miss Swann. The drink spoiled his plan in that direction, of course. But it was a new day. Even if she _was_ Will's girl. They were bloody marooned, weren't they? And he _was_ Captain Jack Sparrow!  
  
But…what the devil? That smell! It wasn't just smoke. It was…rum! Burning!  
  
His eyes popped open.  
  
_Bleedin' hell! SHE'S BURNIN' THE RUM!_


	15. Theme: Romance

Drabble Theme: Romance (St. Valentine's Day)

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**_Treasure _**

"Not all treasure is silver and gold'," Will murmured, as if to himself, kissing his affianced wife on the soft, ivory skin of her neck, just behind her perfect pale pink ear.  
  
Elizabeth felt a shiver run through her at the touch of his lips, and of his hands, but her brow creased slightly and she said, a little breathlessly, "What? What did you say?"  
  
Will lifted his head and looked at her. "Not all treasure is silver and gold'." He smiled crookedly. "Jack said it. About you."  
  
Elizabeth stared at him. "He did? When?"  
  
"When we came to rescue you, on Isla de Muerta. " Will studied her face in the moonlight. "You were so strong, so beautiful, standing there next to Barbossa." Like a new sword, Will thought. Straight, shining, sharp-edged, waiting for a man's touch to kindle it to flame. "Jack was right," Will said softly, and kissed her lips, running his hands down her back and marveling anew at her response.  
  
After what seemed a long time, she drew away slightly and looked at him, her eyes half closed with languorous pleasure. She said, "Jack was right about something else." A gleam of mischief lit her face at Will's questioning look. She quoted, " It would never have worked between us'," and kissed her darling again.


	16. Theme: Dialogue Only

Drabble Theme: All Dialogue

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**_Permission _**

"Miss Swann! I didn't think to see you again. Does your da' know you're here?"

"Yes. I…I spoke to him. And to the Commodore."

"But their hands are tied?"

"Yes. At least…. Yes. So they say."

"I see. Well. We all do what's right, in our own fashion, eh?"

"Do you really believe that?"

"Don't really matter whether I believe it or not. So…why'd you come?"

"I don't know. Two peas in a pod?"

"Oh. Not for much longer, though, eh?"

"Jack!"

"Now none o' that. Tears don't suit you, and I ain't worth it, Miss Swann."

"It's Elizabeth."


	17. Theme: Red Sky Poem

Drabble Theme: Red Sky Poem

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**_Sailor's Delight _**

_Red sky at morning, sailors take warning;  
__Red skies at night, sailor's delight._

The sun had risen, a glint of gold in a gout of red and grey, like blood on a slippery deck, or the faded color of the scarf 'round his head. And the trim merchant ship, low in the water, had brought to his lips a grim smile that glinted with gold as well.

That was this morning. 

Now, Jack still smiled, watching the little ship fading astern against the Caribbean sunset, her people intact, in body if not spirit. His own crew sang as they worked to stow the swag. It would be a good night.

Sailor's delight, indeed.


	18. Theme: Friends and Enemies

Drabble Challenge: Friends and Enemies

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**_Juana_**

She opened the door to faint smoke and moonlight, and the heartstopping sight of her niece standing on the doorstep, eyes wide, dirt on her face, hair in disarray!

"Madre de Díos! Juana! What happened?" And then she saw him, standing in the middle of the little gravel walkway that led to her door. A man. A stranger. Dark eyes, beaded hair. The face of an angel. Or the devil! "What happened?" she said again, more sharply this time. The clothing. The sword! She knew what he was. "Juana! Did he touch you?"

"Tía Lucita!" the girl cried, dismayed at her Aunt's sudden hard grip on her arms.

Lucita dragged her eyes from him, and looked at her niece, loosening her hands as she did so. "Juana! _Querida!_ He didn't touch you?"

Juana's lip trembled, and Lucita's heart stopped as the girl nodded. But then she said, "He held my hand. Tía, Papa is dead!"

"Dead?" But the words only confirmed the knowledge Lucita had gleaned in those first seconds. Seeing her. Seeing him.

"Sí! They killed him!" Juana struggled against tears, to speak the words. "I heard everything—I hid, but I heard it all, and then they found me…" The look in her eyes told her Aunt the terror of that finding. Then the girl took a deep, shuddering breath. "But then he came and told them I was his." Juana turned and looked at her savior—for he was nothing less!—standing in the moonlight.

"And he brought you to me?" Lucita said slowly.

The man spoke then, in her language, but with an accent. "I'm sorry, Señorita." He turned to go.

She watched him sway down the little path to the gate, but as he put out his hand to open it she found her voice and blurted, "Señor!" He stopped and turned. She stared at him, for a long moment. The face of an angel. "Grácias, amigo."

A hint of a smile touched his lips, though not his eyes. A brief nod. And then he slipped away.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Barbossa was sitting with some of the others by a fire, a fire made up of books and broken furniture and logs cut with the sweat of other men. He held a pear, his hand desecrating the beauty of its shape and color.

"Let's get back to the ship."

Barbossa said, snakelike, "Where's the girl, Jack?"

"It's none o' yer concern."

"Ye let 'er go. Didn't ye?" The fire was reflected in his eyes.

"It's none o' yer concern."

Barbossa contemplated the pear. Then he looked up again, and said, "Yer soft, Jack!" And he crushed the fruit in his hand and threw it in the fire.


	19. Theme: Tattoos

**_ Evidence _**

They were stories, really. Rather like the beads and things threaded  
and braided into his hair, only more so. Memories. Opportune moments.  
Evidence of life. Tests of patience, and pain, and the stoic endurance  
thereof, only somewhat assuaged by the liberal consumption of rum.   
  
He was a patient man, which no one with a passing acquaintance would  
likely guess. The various adornments testified to it, however. And  
he'd learned young that nothing worth having came without pain. But  
after endurance came satisfaction, and beauty.  
  
"What'll it be this time, Captain?"  
  
"A ship, Jim. The _Pearl_. Right here, over me heart."


	20. Thome: Norrington

**_ Only a Week _**

He sat at his desk, in his close, musty office, in Fort Charles, Port Royal, Jamaica. God knows he had plenty to do: a largish pile of unfinished paperwork lay staring up at him. Reports. Requisitions. Dull stuff, surely. But a necessary part of his duties, and one that he did not ordinarily feel so inclined to shirk as he did on this fine day when outside his office was blue sky, a cooling breeze, and the scent and sound and sight of the sea.

It had only been a week. A week since Elizabeth had finally spoken the truth. A week since he'd watched the blacksmith do what he himself had wished he could. A week since that madman had tumbled from the battlements, to be caught in the sea's embrace. And a week since the cannons had maintained silence as the Black Pearl had swept into the harbor, beauty and audacity combined, to claim her Captain.

James Norrington frowned in annoyed contemplation of a lithe, sometimes comic figure with a flashing grin and eyes that revealed too much.

The longing for freedom was not confined to pirates.

§


	21. Theme: Anamaria

**_ Bad Luck  
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**_  
_**

She'd told him no.

No, he couldn't borrow it. She fished! How was she supposed to fish without a boat?

Damn his eyes!

Devil's eyes. Lined, like a whore's, but prettier. Like the rest of him. She'd said no to that, too, for all the good it did her. Criminal what rum did to self-restraint. She'd stick to ale from now on, thanks.

And now he needed a crew and that fool Gibbs didn't want her. Bad luck, he said. Bloody hell! She'd 'bad luck' him!

And maybe she'd 'bad luck' Jack for good measure, while she was at it.  
  



	22. Theme: Justice

A series of five drabbles written for the "Justice" challenge at Black Pearl Library. According to MS Word, they are exactly 100 words apiece...  


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Justice**

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**-- A Fine Balance --**

He had rather hoped some of the good things he'd done would even the score. Apparently not, however.

He listened to the list being read, the crimes attributed to "Jack Sparrow". To anyone listening, it sounded more than enough to justify this. Only he knew the whole truth of what they were hearing.

And then there was Elizabeth. He could see her, standing by her father and the Commodore. Where she would not have been, save for that same Jack Sparrow.

Justice was a complicated thing. He'd been reminded of that the last time he'd looked Barbossa in the eye.

§

**-- Truth --**

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He hadn't been at all what she'd expected. Not as she'd imagined from her reading. He was barely taller than herself, if considerably stronger, and too thin. And dirty. And the odd assortment of clothing, and the hair. Well, really!

It had made her a little angry, actually. That, and the belief that he'd trade Will's life for a ship! _Wretch!_ And, _Is there any truth to the stories?_

_No truth at all._

Well, she knew what he was now. She knew that.the slight, resigned figure standing up there shouldn't be.

She had to say it. Again.

_"This is wrong!"_

§

**-- Blindness --**

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He very much wished she had not come. But she had insisted.

So like her mother, God rest her soul. (God was certainly welcome to try, at any rate.)

After all, the man was just a pirate.

Of course, that was the problem. She saw them as other than what they were. Had done from a girl. No doubt he'd been too indulgent, allowing her to ruin her eyes reading that stuff 'til all hours.

"Adventure" and "freedom" indeed!

They were criminals, brigands all.

Even this rather unusual one.

Most unfortunate. But the law was quite clear on such matters.

§

**-- Bound --**

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_Bound by the law._

He had risen fast, for a younger son, due to his devotion to this precept. The elimination of the parasites that fed on decent, industrious citizens was more than his work, it was a vocation. It was his way of giving service to others, doing his part to ensure the continuity of that which his people called civilization. He had never regretted it. He had never questioned the rightness of those words.

And yet, on this day, in this hour, they meant something different. Something quite disturbing.. Something more akin to the ropes 'round Sparrow's wrists.

§

**-- What's Right --**

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_They done what's right by them. Can't expect more than that. _

The words had shocked, then haunted Will. It was not what he'd been taught about the world. But it was what Jack had been taught, through long and bitter experience.

Norrington. Swann. His crews. Barbossa.

Will's father.

But today he'd prove Jack wrong, by doing what was right by Jack.

He'd used his savings to buy the hat and cloak. A bold statement. He wouldn't need savings after this morning, in any case.

And one should be properly attired when proclaiming one's love, by word or by the sword.

§


	23. Theme: Beginnings

Disclaimer: Disney's.  
A/N: Written for the Black Pearl Library drabble challenge, "Beginnings".

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**_Shipping Out  
  
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Take care of him, the Captain had said.

He didn't look like much, but Bootstrap had seen the type before. Climbing the ratlines, the thin frame would grow wiry and strong; that pale skin would burn, then bronze; the soft hands would blister and bleed, then finally callous.

But that face: too pretty by half, even with the shadow of a new beard and moustache, black as the neatly clubbed hair. Bill would have his work cut out there.

Hard to believe he'd been Matthew Deveral's favorite apprentice.

"So you can draw a map?"

"Aye. But I know ships, too: I was cabin boy on the _Lady_ _Mae_ for a year before I was bound to Deveral. I'll pull my weight."

There was something about that crooked smile, the direct gaze of those dark eyes.

Bill nodded, and smiled back. "I believe you will, Jack Sparrow. I believe you will."


	24. Theme: Blood & Gold

Disclaimer: Disney's

A/N: Written for an old drabble challenge at Black Pearl Sails: 'blood and gold'. 100 words without the title.

**_  
Questionable Outcome_**

_****___

__ "Your fiancé will be wanting to know you're safe."

___Fiancé._

Elizabeth nodded, mouth awry, very close to tears. Her machinations had succeeded, but at what a cost! A dozen soldiers dead or wounded. James's happiness. Her own. Even Will's.

She glanced at Jack, who would have seemed a comic figure in that crown except for the look in his eyes. _____I admire a person who's willing to do whatever is necessary. _But somehow, just now, it seemed rather less than admirable.

She picked her way across to the jollyboat, more than ready to leave this place of blood and gold.


	25. Theme: Dreams & Nightmares

A/N: Written for a drabble challenge at the MSN Group, Black Pearl Scrolls. Theme: Dreams & Nightmares. 100 words, without the title.

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_**Two Sides of the Coin... **_

They'd all had their dreams, dreams of freedom and adventure, and unimaginable riches.

Jack dreamt of these, nestled in the womb of his black ship.

Bill dreamt of these, and then of his wife and son.

Barbossa dreamt of power first: the others would follow.

But the dreams had changed, as dreams could. Power exchanged for a life not worthy of the name. A home lost forever. Chains, real and imagined, the searing pain of a brand, heart torn away and fading into the distance.

_You know nothing of Hell._

Oh, but he did, though. They all did.


	26. Theme: Pirate Talk

**_Avast?  
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**_  
  
_**

The insufferable Gillette and his little crew were well away from the ship when Jack turned, striding back across the deck.

"Was 'avast' not the right word, then?" Turner said, following.

Grimacing at both the defensive tone and the reminder, Jack said acidly, "Aye, but we'd already got their attention, hadn't we? Made us look like bloody fools!"

"We _are _bloody fools, thinking we can succeed in this," came the muttered retort.

Jack snapped, "Maybe, Mr. Turner, but we're in it up to our eyeballs now, ain't we? So scupper it an' get below: we've a rudder chain to disable."


	27. Theme: Sea Creatures

**_Fortuitous Omen  
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There was a distant noise, an odd commotion that didn't sound like the aftermath of a successful hanging. Pintel seemed uninterested, but Ragetti got himself up and went to the barred window. The view drew a strangled cry from his lips. "Look! Lookit this!"  
  
"What're you on about now?" Pintel groused. The idiot had been hooting about "the view" ever since they'd been stuck here. Bloody view sure wouldn't matter after tomorrow, now, would it?  
  
"The _Pearl_! She's out there!"  
  
"_What!_"  
  
Pintel did get up then. The two of them gaped silently, until they suddenly spotted a tiny figure, swimming for all it was worth toward their erstwhile home.  
  
"Sparrow?" Ragetti wondered aloud.  
  
Pintel ground his teeth. "Bloody hell, he's _escaped!_"  
  
_Unfair!_ his brain shrieked. A rope was cast, the figure was hauled aloft to land on the black deck, and then was surrounded by others for a brief time. Then, swiftly, the others dispersed, the sails were set, and the ship began to move out of the bay, unmolested by cannon fire.  
  
Pintel swore a blue streak.  
  
Ragetti, a half-smile on his face, gave a chuff of laughter, and when his companion paused for breath, said in a bemused tone, "There's dolphins!"  
  
Pintel froze. "What?" his voice a whisper now.  
  
He stepped to the window again. The _Pearl_ was farther away, but still could be seen clearly in the morning air, and the silvery creatures that leaped and frolicked in its wake could be seen, too.  
  
Creatures neither of them had seen near the _Pearl_ in ten years.  
  
"Dolphins, Gibbs!" came a call from the ratlines.  
  
Gibbs grinned, and went over to the rail, and laughed at them leaping, and at the one that popped its head from the water and squeaked a greeting. "Cheeky beggar!" he said, fondly. He turned to Jack. "Wondered where they'd all got to: haven't seen a one since we boarded the _Pearl!_"  
  
"That right?" Jack smiled, and turned his face to the sun. 


	28. Theme: Stars

**_Star-talk  
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He found her, blanket-wrapped and pale, watching the sea and infinite stars.

"All right?" He sank to the deck beside her.

"No. It hurts."

"Stitches do. Here." He pressed the flask into her hand. She grimaced. "Drink it! That's an order."

She colored. Uncorked, sipped, a little, then more. Coughed.

He slipped his arm around her. She leaned into him. "Next time, you'll obey orders, and you won't be hurt, eh?"

"Still scolding?" she complained.

He kissed her.

As they settled back, a star fell, hissing across the sky, startling both.

Then she said, "It's Will, laughing."

"Aye." He smiled.


	29. Theme: Sight

**_Sea 'Scape  
_**

**_  
  
_**

A flash of blue and gold caught his eye, distracting him from the uncomfortable sight of a heart breaking.

Bloody parrot.

_Parrot?_

Electrified (but concealing it admirably) he seized the moment.

Rum-scented babbling for the Governor; near sincere sympathy for the Commodore; facetious rejection of the young missy; and for Turner, Bill's stupid, heroic whelp…no, it'd take far too long.

A Fabulous Exit (designed a-purpose to enhance The Legend).

Falling.

Hitting! (_Bloody hell!_)

Kicking toward morning sun, popping into free air with a newborn gasp, and whipping wetly around.

His _Pearl_, and his loyal crew: now that…_that_ was a Sight!


	30. Theme: Memories

**_Reality Island_**

Quite disgusting. Drunk as bedamned, and dead to the world. She sniffed disapproval, even while gloating. Daring to touch the Governor's Daughter!

Although, if he hadn't dared a few days ago _she'd_ be dead, indeed. Niggling guilt and a flush of remembrance made her frown down at him. Why had he done it? She could not imagine, except by assigning to him attributes associated with Heroes. Attributes of the beloved pirates of her storybooks.

He stirred, suddenly, startling her. Wrinkled his nose, sighed, and burped. Loudly. Then he smiled beatifically, and sank deeper into the arms of Morpheus.

Quite disgusting.


	31. Theme: Words

_** The Magic Words **_

"Pass me another bottle, will you please, love?"

"It's '_Miss_ _Swann'_," she said for perhaps the third time in an hour.

"Oh, right. Sorry. Thank you very much, _Miss_ _Swann_." He smirked at her, uncorked the bottle, and took a long swig. Then, noticing her eyes boring into him, he winced, burped slightly, and said, "What? Have I grown a third eye?"

She rolled hers. "No! It's just…how did you acquire your manners? Sometimes you sound like…a _gentleman_!"

"I _am_ a gentleman," he said, looking down his nose at her, eyelids drooping.

"You're a _pirate_!"

He nodded. "That, too." He took another sip, frowned at her. "What? You think I can't be both?"

She seemed disconcerted. "I…" She broke off. Thought of her storybook pirates. Her brows twitched together. "Who _are_ you?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow," he said promptly.

She sighed, elaborately, exasperated. "No! I mean…you haven't answered my question!"

"I did!"

"You didn't! _How did you acquire the manners of a gentleman_?"

He gave a chuff of laughter, shook his head, took another sip, and finally said, "Look, I'd have to be a great fool not to smooth me path with something that costs so little, wouldn't I, Miss Swann?"

She stared. A strange look came over her face. Disappointment? "Oh," she said. She got to her feet. "I'm going for a walk."

He raised the bottle in a farewell salute, and watched her walk down the beach. Then he turned back to the sea. "Mum would've had me hide if I hadn't, wouldn't she now?" he murmured. A crooked smile touched his lips, and he lifted the bottle once more. "Cheers, love."


	32. Theme: Lies

**_Admission_**

The morning after, he leaned on the rail beside her, took her cold hand in his, and said, rough and low, "All right, missy?"

She eyed him, not smiling. "You lied to me."

He gaped. "I never!"

Her brow lifted.

He said, indignantly, "What? The bloody sea turtles? That was Gibbs!"

"Not _that_!"

He frowned, thoughtfully. "Not that hijeous paste necklace I gave you?"

She winced, recalling. "I gave that to my aunt and she tried to sell it."

"Oh. I swear, I didn't know! 'Twas a good job they did, eh?"

"Yes. But that's not it, either."

"No?"

"No."

He chewed his lip some, then said, hesitantly, "Not the time we was set upon, an' Will near drowned an' we told you he'd just got drunk an' fell in a horse trough?"

She looked stunned, then extremely annoyed. "Is _that_ what happened?"

Startled, he fluttered a hand, dismissively. "No, no! Only a jest!"

"Hmmm." She frowned.

He sighed. "What then? I never did!"

"You did."

"Did not."

"You told me it would never have worked between us."

He stared, remembering the night before: their thorough and delicious accord. "Ah. So I did, then." He smiled, bent, and kissed her.

o-o-o


	33. Theme: Questions

**_One Question_**

"One question about your business boy, or there's no use going. This girl, how far are you willing to go to save her?"

To save Elizabeth? His darling? The object of years of longing?

Perfect as one of his swords, cutting to the quick with sharp edges and a core of pure steel, and gladdening the heart with beauty created with an artist's loving hand. Erstwhile playmate. Goddess of his idolatry. The girl who'd saved his very life!

Will spoke, his voice passionate. "I'd die for her!"

"Oh, good," Jack returned, lightly. "No worries, then."

Will stiffened, clenching his jaw.

o-o-o

**_One Answer_**

"One question about your business boy, or there's no use going. This girl, how far are you willing to go to save her?"

_"I'd die for her!" _The fire of passion

Jack damped it. "Oh, good. No worries, then,"

Will stiffened, clenching his jaw.

Jack knew he'd offended, but gave a mental shrug as he turned away. Such drama! The prerogative of youth.

The boy wasn't to know they were on the same page in this case. Jack had long since learned to contain his passion, lest it break his heart.

He'd die for his girl, too: his darling _Pearl_.

o-o-o


	34. Theme: Beginnings

**_Out of the Shadows_**

Deep in shadow he sat, staring out at the forest of masts. Breathing steady, eyes dry. Just cold, now, with anger, mostly. And with loss piled on loss.

_Matthew Deveral, Master Cartographer_. Jack cursed, and set his teeth. He'd finished taking abuse from a master now less skilled than himself! That was part of the problem, of course, though knowing it made no difference.

But Captain Murphy knew, too. That might make a difference.

Jack rose and stepped into the thin Bristol sunshine. Time to see if the Captain was a man of his word, and leave the shadows behind.

-.-


	35. Theme: Sense of Smell

**_- Cold Comfort -  
_**

He'd graced many a lockup with his fabulous presence, and could speak knowledgably and unequivocally of their common characteristics. Dark, always. Sometimes noisy, from wretched humanity or pounding waves. And all of them, without exception, reeked.

Tar, stale water, filthy straw, and spoilt food; anger, misery, and fear. These seeped into wood and stone, and could not be eliminated, no matter how diligent and merciful the gaoler. And God knew, there were few enough of those.

At least this, quite possibly his last, was equipped with a window. The sight and scent of the sea was almost comfort enough.

Almost.

-.-


	36. Theme: Sacrifice

**_Man of Honor_**

He'd tossed aside caution, however reluctantly, to preserve an unknown life.

Jack Sparrow.

Not James Norrington.

It was true about the rocks, so James had run, instead. Useless at that distance. Yet a glimpse of that sudden figure knifing the water had kindled hope.

Damned pirate.

Elizabeth was alive but half-stripped, and the pirate crouched near. James had longed to kill him then and there.

Their conversation increased the urge, and the brand justified it.

Their subsequent dealings brought to light something of their true natures.

Ultimately he'd let them all think he'd been swayed by Swann's reasoning. But no.


	37. Theme: Accidents

**_Chance Meeting_**

They met quite by accident.

A bit of a splash and a roar from the battlements— _Elizabeth!_— and he'd found himself taking the role of Reluctant Hero. He wondered what sort of Elizabeth allowed herself to come to such a pass, but soon found out 'allowed' wasn't quite the right word.

Damned corset! Came near to killing her, though her Da didn't seem to see it in that light.

And Norrington: the Scourge of Piracy. What did the fool think he was up to? Robbery? Or ravishment? With those bloody Marines right there?

Yes. An accident. Pure happenstance.

Wasn't it?


	38. Theme: Joy

**_Marry in April _**

**_

* * *

_**

**_Marry in April when you can,  
Joy for maiden and for man.

* * *

_**

It wasn't in the myriad detail of the preparations—the choosing of linens, the delineation of the contract, choking over a celebratory brandy with her father.

Nor was it in the ceremony itself, standing stiff at the altar, clothes too tight, people too many, vows too solemn.

And the reception was almost worse. It rained and they were all squeezed into the governor's mansion, approval by no means universal, and then that tense moment between James and "Mr. Byrd".

Not even later, that First Time, both tired but determined to ignore sager council. The words 'conjugal relations' gave no hint of the awkwardness and pain commingled with the wonder of those moments.

No, it came after that, hours later, waking warm and close, the cool, rain-swept dawn shutting out the world and its expectations.

Beloved Husband. Beloved Wife.

.-


	39. Photo Challenge 1

This was written for a Photo Drabble Challenge at Black Pearl Sails. The photo is visible on my April 3, 2005 Live Journal post.

_**

* * *

**_

_**The Opportune Moment**_

Port Royal at last. Bloody hell, it had been a long voyage.

Unfortunate, about the _Jolly Mon_. Ana wouldn't be best pleased about that. Not that she'd be pleased anyway, considering his "borrowing" of it, and the particular method of "persuasion" that had allowed him to do so. She'd been a little difficult, but he'd learned patience over the years. Patience, and persistence: like water against rock. The denouement had been sweet, and he certainly couldn't regret it. But, no. She wouldn't be pleased.

However, needs must, and all that.

Rumor of the _Pearl_ had reached him. She was back, close, inhabiting the same waters. Their courses were destined to intersect.

He knew it. He could feel it.

And another rumor: the navy's new ship, the _Interceptor_. "Fastest ship in the Caribbean". Interesting claim, that. Something to be put to the test.

It was all coming together. Patience, and persistence: like water against rock. And the opportune moment was at hand.

o-o-o


	40. Theme: Sickness

**_ Sick of Love _**

_…Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love…_

Song of Solomon, 2:5

* * *

Elizabeth woke late, and alone, and much against her will, body and mind both poised at the very edge of… of…

She groaned. Struggled to recapture sleep, burrowing and squirming into the linens of Jack's bed. They proved delightfully, disturbingly redolent of evocative scents, rendering the exercise quite useless.

She gave it up, and rolled onto her back. Opened her eyes and blinked at the watery play of light and shadow on the cabin's ceiling.

Only a dream, then. Dream-hands. Fine, be-ringed, and sun-dark… pressing… stroking… gentle… making her breath come short… leaving her aching. She bit her lip.

_Where the devil was he?_

A stupid question. By the light, morning was well advanced. He was on deck, then, communing with his beloved ship, of course.

She tried, but was disappointed to find she could not remember him getting out of bed.

By any reasonable measure, the previous night's activities should have gone some way toward assuaging the twin fires of mind and body that plagued her. This was obviously not the case, however. It had been several months since she'd been visited with this particular malady, and she found it…disconcerting. That it should happen now. With Will gone. With Jack here.

_Not_ here, though. There was no use in lying abed. Perhaps it would ease her to take a walk on deck, in the fresh air.

And he'd be close at hand.

But then there sounded a familiar step in the passage. In an uncharacteristic display of cowardice, she gave a tiny gasp, and pulled the covers up to her chin as the door opened.

It was indeed Jack, carrying a small, laden tray. "Oh, good! You're awake." He shut the door and set the bolt. "Cook's somehow under the impression you're in need of more substantial sustenance than porridge this morning." A flash of gold and white. "There's hot tea, and he's used some of those dried apples and a bit of ham to make pasties for us!"

A rather thrilling frisson had coursed through her, but his cheerfully matter-of-fact utterance made her flush, and think her dramatics absurd. She returned the smile, therefore, as though naught were amiss, and moved to make room for him on the bed.

He set the tray on the little table and sat beside her. "Like a taste, then?" he asked, picking up a steaming, golden crescent. He looked at her.

His gaze, as always, seemed to lay bare her heart. She closed her own eyes, just for a moment.

When she opened them again, he was frowning.

She cleared her throat. "N-no. Not just now, thank you."

"No?" He set the pastie down. "Are you all right? Give me your hand."

After a short struggle with the covers, she did so. His grasp was warm, and comfortable.

"What is it, then?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

She hesitated, but only for a moment. "I find I am feeling… unwell. And you are wearing far too many clothes to remedy the situation."

His eyes widened. He said, in a voice like slow velvet, "Ah. Like that, is it?" His lips quivered against an inescapably smug smile. He bent and kissed her hand.

The touch of his lips… she bit her own, again, as her body responded. "Yes," she said, simply, quite tired of games. "Yes. It's like that."

o-o-o


	41. Theme: Hair

**_Her Lover's Question_**

Does he like it best upswept  
neatly pinned  
one or two perfect curls  
artistically coaxed  
to lie against  
that slender, sculpted shoulder  
revealing the pale column  
of her graceful neck  
and the shell-like ears  
flawless as the pearls that grace them?

But no. That studied beauty  
can't compare with  
the scent and sight  
of those golden waves  
lying soft and loose  
against the white silk of the pillows  
light to his shadow  
day to his night  
tempting, luring, entangling him  
in a web of warm, honeyed sun,  
hunger assuaged with sweets,  
a pirate drawn to bright treasure.

o-o-o


	42. Theme: Poetry

**_But You Have Heard Of Me_**

Fleeting beauty has its uses,  
Sun-kissed skin, and smiling lips;  
And one's effects are well enough:  
Sharp-edged swords, and sable ships.  
But history craves a deeper theme:  
Tales of courage, sly delights,  
A heart comprised of black and gold,  
As true as starry summer nights.

o-o-o


	43. Theme: I Can Explain

**_French Leave On Lanzarote_**

"I can explain! We…"

"Not to my satisfaction! I bloody told you--no, _ordered_ you--not to go ashore without me! Do I give orders to hear myself talk?"

"A rhetorical question, I presume," Elizabeth replied coolly, eyes sparking.

Seeing Jack's reaction to this sauce, Anamaria tried to intervene. "Jack, now listen…"

He rounded, furious, and she could not help flinching. "It's _Captain_, and no, _you_ listen! Two weeks on the middle watch, and three if I hear a fuss, savvy?"

Ana's least favorite. She scowled, but only said, "Aye, sir." It was less than she'd expected, really.

"As for you, madam," Jack said, turning back to Elizabeth, "you'll please accompany me to my cabin, where we'll continue this discussion in a less public setting."

Elizabeth actually smirked, and raised a militant brow. "Very well."

Anamaria shook her head, watching them cross the deck, Jack's hand at the small of Elizabeth's back. "Glad to be out o' that brangle," Ana muttered.

"Oh, I don't know," said Gibbs, with a humorous edge. "Might like to be a fly on the wall, at least."

"Vile old man!"

He chuckled. "Aye. But it's _you_ as has mids. Better get some sleep, lass." 

o-o-o


	44. Theme: Light

With apologies to Mark Twain, this is a sequel to my "Freedom" drabble: _Molly Hatter. _Molly is also a minor character in my story, _The Elusive Norrington.  
_

**_

* * *

_**

**_Someone Waits_**

The first time had been something of a surprise for both of them: dalliance turned to a meeting of hearts, minds, and bodies that inspired shocking generosity in him, and determined faithfulness in her.

The second time, he'd come to see the result of that inspiration: _Hatter's Hattery --_ _Headgear for the Discerning Gentleman_.

Two weeks he'd stayed, that time. When he left, he'd taken away the sweet memory of her gratitude. And a hat.

"I'll leave a light in the window for you," she'd told him, and he'd laughed and shaken his head.

But the third time, he'd smiled to see it burning there.

And the fourth and fifth, he'd expected it.

But the sixth… now that time was different.

Battle and storm had ravaged his _Pearl_. They'd laid up, licking their wounds, for weeks, too remote to send word of their survival. Well, he'd just surprise 'em again, that's all.

But would that little lamp still burn?

One dark night, after finally limping into port, he made his way through the town to her shop and discovered it did.

She opened the door, first to peek, then wrenched it wide. "Jack!"

There was an edge of tears to this, and his smile twisted. "Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

She threw herself at him.

He caught her.

When they finally paused for breath, and he said, all a-wonder, "You left the lamp burning."

"Always!" she replied, voice unsteady, but conviction firm. "Long as it was lit, there was hope."

o-o-o


	45. Theme: Revenge

**_A Word In Private_**

They come to him, again, as sunset fades. Gibbs looking worried, Anamaria annoyed.

"Give over the helm," Ana says. "I want a word with you. _In private_."

Well, he can't keep at it much longer, anyway. Not after the day he's had. So, for form's sake, he eyes her and lifts a provocative brow. "That right? In _private_?" Predictably, she scowls, and he leers a bit.

Gibbs chuckles, and lays a hand on the wheel. "I'll take care of 'er for you, Captain. You go with Ana, now."

Jack nods, leer fading. He has to. Has to rest. But…

_His_ ship. The _Pearl_ is his.

He's careful to give no outward sign he's tearing himself away, perforce. He follows after Anamaria to the Great Cabin, admiring the view, which gets him to thinking of that night they'd had, before he'd borrowed her boat. A dangerous train of thought—she has a bad habit of reading his mind about some things. But better that, just now, than the niggling dread…

But she opens the doors, and he follows her in, and it's all right. "You've cleaned it up."

"Of course we did," Ana snaps, as she shuts the doors behind them. "Bloody hell, d'ja think we wanted Barbossa's stench lingering?"

He gives a laugh, but it's cut short. He hadn't permitted himself to look at things too closely when he was here with Barbossa a fortnight past. The whole ship had been rotting, his cabin included.

His cabin. With some of his old things still intact, even after ten years.

He can't help himself. He walks over to the case that was built into the bulkhead for his books (smiling to remember the carpenter—_Goose Dunnigan was it?_—grousing about that unpiratical piece of work). Runs his hand over the leather of the bindings.

"Don't think Barbossa touched 'em," says Ana, at his shoulder. "Lotta dust on 'em, but we cleaned that off."

"Did you now?" he murmurs, and turns to look at her.

She makes her face hard, but he can see her eyes. "There's some supper, there on the table," she says gruffly. "And rum. Sit and have some."

He glances at the table—there's a meal, laid out for him. He makes a show of frowning and looks at her again. "Thought you wanted 'a word. _In private_'."

She grinds her teeth, and then spits, "I do! You'll sit down there and eat, Jack Sparrow, an' then you'll get some sleep. I didn't give the word to go back an' fetch you so's you could drop dead like some lovesick fool!"

An ultimatum? She ought to know better than that.

He says nothing for a minute. Thinks how it could have gone this morning. Thinking how all this—this whole day—has surprised him. To put it mildly.

Finally he says, "Didn't think you'd give that word. Why did you?"

She rolls her eyes, but her voice is less impatient as she replies. "I told you this morning. The _Black Pearl_ is yours."

"I owed you a ship."

"The Swann girl tell you about that?"

He just looks at her.

So she goes on, resigned. "You don't owe me, or anyone, the _Black Pearl_. An' I figure a couple o' weeks rottin' in gaol, an' bein' almost hung is plenty of revenge for what's between the two of us."

He studies her some more, for long, slow moments. Then, seeing as she's off her guard, he does what he wants to do. Grabs her, and pulls her against him (the eyes in that beautiful, dark face!), and kisses her.

On the cheek.

She'd gasped, stiffening, and grabbed the front of his coat, ready to shove him away. Instead, she stills, tense and alive in his arms, under his hands, and he's able to brush his lips back against her smooth skin and say in her ear, "Thank you, Ana."

A lot of the fight goes out of her at that. But he kisses her cheek again, and releases her.

She backs away a step, cheeks red, working hard at indignation. She tilts her chin up, and says, severely, "You're bloody mad!"

He grins. "So they say."

She narrows her eyes. "You'd better watch it, Jack Sparrow!"

He narrows his, too, and tips the corner of his mouth up. "It's _Captain_ Sparrow, lass."

She gives a little snort that starts out derisive, but doesn't end that way. "Aye. So it is." She shakes her head a bit: not disagreement, just wonder. "Now: if we're through havin' _words_, Captain, come an' sit, and eat your supper."

o-o-o


	46. Theme: Insults

**_Parry and Riposte_**

The rhythmic clash of steel on steel rang through the morning air as the combatants strove with deadly grace. The breeze was feather light and the witnesses hushed; even, heavy breathing was audible, along with the pad and scrape of practiced booted feet. Blue skies and shadowed sails wheeled overhead.

Evenly matched, ultimately it was knowledge of the surroundings that tipped the scales. A misfortunate heel caught against an obstruction, an oath sounded, and the foe thudded to the sun-hammered deck.

"There now," Jack gasped, eyes alight, offering the Commodore a hand, "Y'satisfied it ain't made o' wood?"

o-o-o


	47. Theme: Fire

**_"Fire All!"_**

"Fire all!" Elizabeth had roared, as loud as she could, forcing her voice over wind, wave, and the mob of pirates. The _Interceptor's_ guns roared back in response, echoing the command. The ship, the air, the world shuddered and cracked with sound, and then with smoke, fire, and splinters as the _Black Pearl_ gave reply, deadly missiles finding their marks.

_An avenging goddess_, Will said, waxing poetical when he spoke of the moment, many years later. _A Valkyrie, an angel of death._

Maybe so. All she remembered was she'd never felt more human and more alive than in that moment.

o-o-o


	48. Theme: Treasure

**_Lost Treasure_**

There was an audible gasp from behind him as he let the crown slip from his fingers. It didn't make much of a splash. Surprisingly numb, he watched it as it faded, falling into transparent black, turning and winking where the moonlight penetrated, ghostly silver fingers on buttery gold and colorful cut gems.

Gone. Then, a second later, a final glimmer from the depths.

Then gone, indeed.

Behind him, Elizabeth found her voice. "Jack! Why?"

He raised his eyes. Past stone and rippling silver water, to where the great ship lay anchored, waiting.

"Burial at sea, Miss Swann."

o-o-o


	49. Theme: Movement

** Scherzo  
**_The third movement in a symphony; from the Italian, meaning "joke"._

He'd become accustomed to being alone, insulated amid close heat, smells, strenuous but calming exertion, and the deep satisfaction of making useful things, and, sometimes, of creating beauty. For a long time, his brief forays outside had seemed like dreams: enjoyable, for the most part, but alien.

Now, his perception had altered. Considerably.

Odd that a pirate should be the one to drag him from the quiet dream of the forge into wildly shifting light, into the arms of the sea, and now to this place of riotous, raucous, cacophonous reality.

Jack was babbling something about the 'sweet, proliferous bouquet' of the place, and demanding to know what he thought.

What he thought! What _could_ he think?

"It'll linger," he finally managed, and knew it for the truth as the words left his lips.

For good or ill, it would linger.

**o-o-o**  



	50. Theme: Extremities

**_In Extremis_**

"You'd have thought the fool was oblivious to the fact that he was about to be hung!" scoffed Andrew.

"Do you think so?" James smiled a little, lifting a brow.

"Nonsense!" objected Theo. "Merely he would not demean himself. He knew how to die."

"Oh, you are besotted!" Andrew snapped, quite exasperated. "Why, he was actually chuckling as his crimes were enumerated. No acknowledgment whatsoever of the gravity of the situation--that he would soon face his Maker. He is, as I said before, an idiot!"

"Debatable," James said, before Theo could retort. "But one cannot deny that he is, at least, exceptionally fortunate." James tossed off what remained of his brandy, then set the glass down as he rose to his feet. "Gentlemen, the hour grows late, and I'm afraid I must take my leave. My thanks for the excellent brandy, and the convivial company."

The two junior officers had risen as well, and Theo exclaimed, "Sir! The pleasure was ours!"

"Indeed, sir!" Andrew agreed.

Norrington favored them with a slight bow. "Good night to you both."

They bowed in return, then resumed their seats as the straight figure left the taproom of the inn.

When their commander was out of earshot, Andrew said, quietly, "Poor devil. He's taking it surprisingly well. But perhaps Miss Swann had not his heart, after all."

Theo gave his friend an odd look. "Nonsense," he said, again.

**o-o-o**


	51. Theme: Broken

**_Broken_**

"I feel…".

Not pain, no, in spite of that welling blood.

But, for one blessed moment, bright, full-blown sensation.

Uneven rock beneath his boots.

His clothing: an enveloping, sliding, catching resonance.

The embrace of his mutilated hat.

The heavy heat of sword and pistol.

Air: humid, and chill, and… _ah, God, the sea!_

And fainter scents: gold. And burnt powder.

The weight of eyes: behind him, eager as young crows'; before him, beautiful and hated, and dark with portent and…was it pity?

His guts twisting… but fading, now.

Everything fading, dreamlike, leaving nothing in it's wake. Nothing except…

"…cold."

**o-o-o **


	52. Theme: Green

**_Green-ey'd Monster_**

"What's this?" Elizabeth picked up the lazily caressing appendage.

He frowned. "What? M'hand."

"No!" She took the ring between her thumb and forefinger. "This. Is it an emerald? A real one?"

"Mmm. 'Course it's real."

"Where did you get it? It's huge. And the setting. Silver skulls? I've never seen anything like it. Is it random swag?"

"No."

"But where did you get it, then?"

An eyelid slid half open. "You're mighty awake and curious, considering."

She turned to face him. "Youth. And I haven't been on watch for hours, like certain captains of my acquaintance." She kissed him, lingering over it, and he hummed approval. But the eyelid closed again, so she stopped. "You can't go to sleep yet."

He snuffed, tiredly. "What? The ring?"

"Yes. Should I be jealous?"

He was silent for a long moment. "No. Maybe." He opened both his eyes, and, observing her – all inquisitive femininity – sighed. "Long story. Fate worse than death, an' all. Saved 'er."

Her brows arched. "You do make a habit of heroism, don't you?"

His lips quivered in a losing battle against a smile. "Not really," he drawled. "She was…er…past the first blush. And… a bit _plain_, y'might say. Betrothed to some ancient, a grandee of sorts. Rich fella. But… well, she would've died a virgin. My word on't."

She stared. "'Saved her'! Why, you unmitigated scoundrel!"

"Been tellin' you that, for years."

"And then you stole her ring, as well!"

"Not at all. She sent it to me. A gift. In remembrance." He smirked.

Her eyes narrowed. "Really? Is that true?"

"'Course it's true." Awake again, he drew her close, and murmured against her lips, "Word of a pirate, love."

**o-o-o**


	53. Theme: Patience

**_ Lady's Man _**

Well, this was a slap in the face.

But no use fightin' the tide. Carryin' on, fit to wake the dead.

Or the guard.

Daft buggers. Keepin' _him_ awake!

"You can keep calling all night, that dog is never going to move!"

"Well, 'scuse us if we haven't resigned ourselves to the gallows just yet!" came the retort.

He chuckled, and gave it up. Settled, and tugged at his hat, shading his eyes from stone and iron.

She'd turned fickle, but it'd pass. She loved her Jack, did Lady Luck. If escape was on the cards, it'd be through her kind offices.

Not the bloody dog's!

**o-o-o**


	54. Theme: Aches

**_The Second Time_**

He sits, and takes a deep swig of rum. Medicinal purposes.

Though it's not like the first time.

For one thing, he's not alone.

Oh, she's a mite prickly. But what woman isn't? She's easy on the eyes. He smiles at this gross understatement. And that prickliness… that _spirit_… that'll keep him amused. And her alive.

That, and the rum.

And that's the other thing: this time he knew about the cache.

That first time, when he'd gained this shore, and turned, and watched his ship—_his_ _Pearl!_—fading into the distance… well, he'd never felt such an agony of impotent fury.

And, yes: despair.

After all, he didn't find the rum right off.

He puts the treasure to his lips: burning, soothing heat. Then turns to savor his companion, moving away, down the beach.

Sweet sway of hips. Flash of bare ankles.

No, it's not like the first time.

**o-o-o**


	55. Theme: Bootstrap Bill

**_A Lucky Man_**

Bill couldn't help smiling as Jack swayed precariously up the gangplank, flanked by two painted females, the three of them singing decidedly off key. The trio briefly lost its balance, staggered back, located it again and continued on, presently gaining the deck.

"Firs' Mate Sparrow reportin' in, Mister Turner," Jack announced, focusing on Bill with some difficulty. Succeeding at last, his gaze drifted downward and he frowned.

Bill said in low, admonishing tones, "Jack! You know Tobias won't stand for the ladies bein' on the ship."

Jack ignored this. "Lord, Bill! That shirt! A bit sudden, ain't it?"

Though the shirt was new, the jibe was an old one, and Bill gave an exasperated snort. But the shorter of the girls gratified him by exclaiming, "It's a lovely shirt! Don't know when I've seen quite that shade o' green!"

"An' all that embroidery, too," the taller, red-haired female noted. "'S right pretty, it is!"

"Much obliged, ladies," said Bill, nodding politely.

"'T's his wife, back in England," Jack informed the two, his expression serious, though his eyes laughed. "Makes 'em with 'er own fair hands, an' sends 'em out. A touch o' home, like."

"Oh! 'E's a lucky man!" the short one opined, nodding so her yellow curls bobbed.

Red-head ran a hand up under Jack's coat. "I'd make _you_ a shirt! Pretty as that! See if I won't."

Jack looked alarmed. "Oh, no, love! I'm a plain gent, me. Don't aspire to such sartorial splendor, I assure you."

Bill and the girls laughed at this, for there were few men as careful of their appearance as Jack Sparrow, as was obvious to anyone with eyes.

Bill said, "I'll spare you any more 'splendor', Jack, and take these ladies off your hands. Don't fall asleep on watch!"

"Ha! Not likely: just the thought o' that shirt'll keep me awake. _Adieu, mademoiselles_. It's been a pleasure."

**o-o-o**

"_Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow!_ Ah, Mr. Twigg: I see you're off to town. Would you be so obliging as to escort these ladies back to their… er… lodgings. If you please."

"Aye, Captain."

Bill leaned on the _Pearl's_ railing, watching this little exchange, and Jack's flamboyant bow to the departing females, then straightened as his Captain swayed up the gangplank.

"Have an int'resting evening, Captain?" Bill smiled.

Jack chuckled as he achieved the deck, and patted his pocket, which clinked in a familiar way. "Y'might say so. Couple o' birds ripe for pluckin' over at the Cat 'n' Whistle. The ladies were cheerin' me on, as it were. But what's this? Another shirt from Mary?" Jack's eyes and grin sparkled with suppressed laughter as he looked over the newest addition to the Turner wardrobe.

Bill had to chuckle, too. "She writes she's been 'experimenting' with her dyes."

"The results ain't entirely efficacious, Bill: that's a devilish color!"

"It's red."

"It's orange! Y'look like a pumpkin."

"She _made_ it, Jack. It's the thought that counts. She's fond of bright colors."

"I'd noticed that, over the years," Jack smirked.

Bill shook his head. "Leave off and look at this, though." He slipped his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat, drew out the note, and handed it to Jack.

Jack unfolded it and read the careful, childish writing silently.

_Dear Papa,_

_I hope this finds you well. Mama and I miss you very much._

_Fair winds and following seas._

_Your loving son,_

_Will_

A little crease appeared between Jack's dark brows, and he looked up at Bill. "He can write! How old is he, now?"

"Five years last month." Bill knew an ache of pride and longing as he said it. "Mary says he's smart as a whip. Looks just like me, too."

"That right?" Jack cocked his head. "Well, p'rhaps you'll need to see for yourself, one day soon, eh?"

There was no teasing in the smile, or in the eyes, now, and Bill nodded, his heart suddenly lighter. "P'rhaps you're right."

"O' course I'm right! Captain's always right!" Jack folded up the note, again, stepped close, and tucked it back in Bill's pocket. "You're a lucky man, Mr. Turner. A very lucky man."

**o-o-o-o-o **


	56. Theme: Down Time

**_ By the Light of a Single Lantern _**

The map's curling edges were weighted with rock, dagger, apple, and inkwell. He dipped a quill into the latter, carefully drew a line along the straightedge he'd set, then wrote something next the line, the scratch of it audible in the quiet night.

Ana slid from the bed, wrapping a blanket round her, and padded over to where he sat, the sole smooth and cool beneath her bare feet. "What're you doing?" she murmured. "What time is it?"

"Late. I couldn't sleep. Gettin' a fix on our next move."

He was shirtless, and she set her hand soft on his shoulder (deep bronze to her paler, creamy brown)… moved the heavy trinket-laden hair aside… bent, and placed a kiss on his back, just where the old marks  
of the lash faded.

He smiled, and looked at her as she straightened. "You want something, love?"

"You need your rest, Jack. This'll wait til morning."

"Told you: I couldn't sleep." But his eyes gleamed as he turned to her, his hands slipping under her blanket.

Breath catching, she gently took his face between her two hands. She had to swallow hard before she could speak. "Maybe I can help with that, Captain."

**o-o-o **


	57. Theme: White

**_ White Man_**

A Prequel to _'Diversity' _(story #1 in_ 'Pirates By Request'_)

* * *

He was different, all right, his skin under that uniform, once they'd got it off, pale as ivory. Made the wound look even worse than it was. Made it _wrong_, in a way that struck her to the heart.

She set her jaw and helped Jack do what they had to do to save him, but it was hard. By the end, there were tears streaking her cheeks. None on his, though, nor any cry on his lips, that stubborn, bloody-minded courage serving, though it left him limp as a rag, and his face dead white under its shipboard tan.

**o-o-o**


	58. Theme: Believe

**_ Tall Tales? _**

"….and the blasted sea-wench splashed me with 'er saucy silver tail as she took herself off!"

Laughter and murmurs of approval rewarded the finale of another outlandish story, though it was apparent Gibbs was quite serious about its veracity.

"He really seems to believe all that nonsense he spouts!" Will exclaimed, chuckling.

"'Course he does," Jack drawled, his eyes aglow with rum. He picked up the bottle. "Here, have another."

"No, thanks." Will set his hand over his empty mug, but too late, resulting in a cold, wet spill.

"Oh, sorry. Criminal waste. Could take care of that for you." Jack licked his lips and grinned goldly.

Will rolled his eyes. "You're incorrigible."

"Of course, darlin'. That's why you like me." Jack's leer changed to a pout as Will picked up a raggedy napkin and blotted at his wet hand. The pirate said, with tipsy belligerence, "Anyway, why shouldn't mermaids be true? Gibbs ain't a liar."

Will raised a brow. "Jack! A mermaid? How can you believe such stuff?"

Jack shook his head. "How can _you_ be so bloody thick? Where've you been? You forgettin' the _cursed undead skeletal pirates_, mate?"

Will stared, and then frowned. Jack nodded sagely.

"Oh," said Will, finally.

"Oh!" Jack mocked. "So, what's not to believe, eh?"

Memory and possibility gave assurance a swift kick. "I… believe…"

"Aye?" Jack prompted.

Will shook his head, and then reached for the bottle. "I believe… I'll have another drink."

**o-o-o**


	59. Theme: Drift

**_ Spindrift _**

He sat in a shadowed corner of the Black Dog Tavern, Port Royal, Jamaica, nursing his third grog.

The sidelong glances and furtive discussion had both diminished over the last two weeks. After the last hanging, he reckoned they'd cease entirely.

The last hanging. Jack Sparrow's. Two mornings hence.

They tolerated him, but he was no longer one of them. He knew it. They knew it.

Oh, he still was, in fact, Brown's apprentice. And his… _regard_ for Miss Swann: that would never change, as long as he drew breath. But these facts that informed his life paled in the face of The Fact.

Pirate's whelp.

He could hear him now…

_Pirate is in your blood, boy, so you'll have to square with that someday._

Jack.

Will drained his mug.

When he set it down again he was no longer alone.

"Gibbs!"

The man put a finger to his lips. "Hush, young Bootstrap."

Will stiffened. "That… that's not my name."

"Is it not?"

Talk about a 'sharp eye'…

"What do you want?" Will muttered.

Gibbs nodded. "I've a bit of a proposition for ye now, haven't I?"

**o-o-o**


	60. Theme: Pirates

**_ Act of Piracy _**

"You left me in charge of him," Elizabeth told her father, and the lieutenant. "He needs me."

Will flushed, but did not refute the assertion.

In the end, she was allowed to stay if she would agree to remain silent during the proceedings. She seated herself on the chair beside Will's at the big table.

But as they questioned him, it was borne in upon her that Mr. Gibbs had been correct, and that she had been entirely wrong.

"I know it is difficult for you, Mr. Turner, but any information you can give us would be helpful."

"They were pirates, sir," Will said, unsteadily. "I saw their ship coming toward us, in the fog. The _Lady Anne_ was becalmed, but the black ship… she just came on! Our captain had raised a flag of truce, but the pirates paid no heed to it. They fired upon us, but their aim… I don't think they meant to do such damage. There was a fire, and then, almost before we realized how bad it was…" His voice trailed off and he sat staring blindly before him, remembering.

Elizabeth's father said, "It's a miracle you survived, my boy."

Will nodded, and Elizabeth sensed what he was thinking: _Why me, and not the others?_

**o-o-o**

It was very late, but Miss Pettigrew had imbibed a paregoric draught in her ongoing struggle with _mal de mer_ and was finally snoring peacefully, undisturbed by the lamp that still burned in the cabin. Elizabeth waited to be sure her governess was sound asleep, then set down her book and quietly retrieved the medallion from where she'd hidden it, in the bottom of her embroidery basket.

She looked at it closely in the lantern light, turning it, horrified anew at the death's head and the arcane symbols, smoothing her fingers over the alluring, buttery gold.

It was real gold: she had bitten it, as John Coachman had shown her once, and sure enough there had been a faint mark left upon the edge.

Pirate gold.

And yet, it was now plain that Will Turner was no pirate.

She should give it back to him, and ask him how he had acquired such a thing.

But… not now.

Better to wait, until they reached their new home, and were away from the close confines of the _Dauntless_ and her vast, inquisitive crew. Then she would tell Will what she'd done, and why, and he would answer her questions.

And she would give back the medallion.

One day soon.

Perhaps.

**o-o-o-o-o **


	61. Theme: Jack the Monkey II

**_ Investigation _**

Having recovered somewhat from the treasure's blinding glint, Norrington gestured and said, "I take it that's Barbossa?"

"Aye," said Sparrow, grimly. He strode off, leading the way over rock and precious scree, and through the shallow water, and Norrington followed, though his lieutenants hung back, still apparently bedazzled by the vast hoard.

But when the two drew near the fallen villain, a tiny figure leapt shrieking atop it.

Sparrow started violently. "Bloody hell! The damned monkey!"

He went for the creature, but it darted away, scolding and circling, and Sparrow's face was a picture of surprise as Norrington calmly stooped and offered it a hand. The monkey hesitated briefly, then launched itself, scurrying to the broad shoulder. Norrington straightened, and the animal chittered in distress, wrapping skinny arms about its rescuer's neck. Despite the indignity, Norrington chuckled. "Barbossa's pet?"

"Aye, the little bastard."

"Now, Sparrow!" Norrington chided. "He seems quite tame. My sister had one, years ago."

"Did she? Not like this one, I'll warrant."

"Perhaps not entirely." Norrington drew his head back to look, and the monkey did so, too, studying the man in return. Norrington remarked, "He's seems in good health. Very well dressed. Does he have a name?"

Sparrow didn't answer immediately, and Norrington turned to find the pirate scowling. The Commodore raised a brow. "Well?"

The scowl cleared, abruptly. "Name's 'Hector'."

"Hector!" Norrington turned to the creature, which had become quite alert at the utterance. "Hector?"

The monkey cocked its head as though in inquiry.

Norrington gave a small, satisfied smile, and turned back to Sparrow.

"Well. The information you gave us, incomplete though it was -" Norrington made a casual gesture indicating the vast fortune heaped about the cavern "- seems to be born out by what we've seen so far. The animal can't survive here. We'll have to take him with us."

"Take him?" Sparrow exclaimed, outraged.

"You have an alternate suggestion?"

Sparrow ground his teeth. "I've a great many, Commodore, none of which involve preserving the life o' that worthless animal, so I'll save me breath. I can see you've made up your mind."

Norrington nodded. "I never doubted your powers of observation, Sparrow."

**o-o-o**

Somewhat later little Jack was being carried, shoulder high, from the cavern, one forepaw gripping the fine coat of his savior, the other fingering the medallion hidden in his pocket. He looked back at the pirate with the burning eyes, swaying along behind them, and bared his teeth in a toothy grin.

**o-o-o-o-o**


	62. Theme: First Day

**_ A Change In The Weather _**

By the Saints, the lass were in a foul mood that morning. "Josh, yer with me!" she says, and I cringed some, for I knew 'er plan: muckin' out the captain's quarters.

The place stank of Barbossa, and that blasted monkey of his, too. Disgustin'. We polished up the windows, an' opened 'em wide, lettin' in the sea air. Then we got busy, chuckin' out ten years' worth of leavin's, and Ana mutterin' to 'erself, like the edge of a storm, all the while.

Well, we'd gone through near all of it when the mutterin' stops, sudden like, and she calls me over to 'er. She'd moved a chest away from the bulkhead, and there was a bookcase, built right in, the books untouched an' all over dust, but bound with leather, most of 'em.

She took one out, an' opened it, and now she asks me what it says.

I'll tell ye, seein' those words, writ in that bold, flourishin' hand, the voice stuck in me throat a bit. "It's Jack's," I says, finally. "_Captain Jack Sparrow_. It's 'is journal. From before."

She studied the words a while, an' leafed through it. Couldn't read it, but it seems to've spoke to 'er anyway, 'cause she left off mutterin'.

"All right. Back to work," is all she says to me.

I went, but saw how she took and dusted off each o' those books, holdin' 'em like they was treasure.

An' that night, after supper, she asks me to read her a bit out o' that journal. Which I did. An' every night after that, too, even after we'd reached Tortuga.

Every night. 'Til Turner came to find us.

But she'd made up 'er mind that first day, I reckon.

**o-o-o**


	63. Theme: First Day II

Many thanks to Hereswith for editing. This is a prequel to _**A Word In Private**_ (Chapter 45: Theme: 'Revenge').

* * *

**_o-o-o A Fine Day o-o-o  
_**

_Jack and His Pearl._

_The Pearl and Her Rightful Captain._

_Captain Jack Sparrow and His Ship, the Black Pearl._

These, and similar phrases, weave a constant harmony through his thoughts, like a hymn (or p'rhaps the humming of a lunatic), though outwardly he's possessed of a sangfroid that can only be considered remarkable in one who'd stood upon the scaffold mere hours before.

Staring down Death, with laughter on his lips (of which the crowd had been appreciative, even if the hangman had not).

Praying that his last moments would do little to sully The Legend.

Those last moments, as they'd ultimately played out, run over and over in his mind (between the humming) and, though he takes himself to task for dwelling on such useless and, indeed, damaging thoughts, he has to acknowledge that the particular nature of the Opportune Moment provided by Providence that morning was sufficient to give any mortal a lasting turn. He's not just _any_ mortal, of course; still, mortal he is, with a mortal's natural reluctance to shuffling off the proverbial coil, so it's perhaps understandable that the events of those moments – The Sudden Realization That Something Was Happening, rapidly succeeded by The Trap Springing, The Sickening Fall, The Noose Tightening, The Painful Inability to Breathe, and The Desperate Scrabbling For Purchase – had quite electrified him with terror at the time.

Actually, he's thankful he hadn't pissed himself.

He had not, however, and his subsequent Escape (in which William had once again proven himself the progeny of Bootstrap: Good Man, Good Pirate, Bloody Pig-headed), including his daring leap into the arms of the sea (yes, he'd meant to do that, in spite of appearances), had been fabulous enough to provide fodder for many a popular ballad and song in years to come.

Entirely in keeping with The Legend.

The euphoria's been his constant companion for hours, lending him an energy and a clarity of thought beyond the ken of ordinary men (and women: Anamaria's been eyeing him askance for some time now). His hands on the wheel of his ship – _his ship!_ – provide the last link in the chain, the means by which she communicates her joy to him, and makes him whole, and he does not want to give that up, wants it to last and last and last: _his_ ship, _Jack and His Ship_, sailing into the setting sun, and on and ever on as night closes over the two of them; on and further on, under the wheeling stars.

_Captain Jack Sparrow of the Black Pearl. _

However, he has to admit that, though the spirit is willing as it's ever been since he first drew breath in that thatched cottage back in Kent, the flesh has a somewhat different opinion of the matter.

When was the last time he'd slept? Not the night before, certainly. He'd set it aside as a waste of precious time, and instead had centered himself in watching the Sea: Norrington had given him that, at least, as well as that promise he'd end there, rather than Deadman's Cay.

He smiles at the manner in which that promise is now fulfilled, and grips the spokes of the _Pearl_'s wheel tighter, absorbing her strength and beauty, fending off weariness and the need to eat and sleep (_perchance to dream_).

Besides – and he barely allows his mind to light on the subject – there's the matter of his cabin. Ten years of Barbossa's left an impression, and he'll lay it'll take some time before that's remedied.

His smile fades, and he pushes that thought away, too.

_His Pearl. _

So when Ana tries again, an hour into the dog watch, mouth and eyes narrowed, he flashes as lucid a smile as he can muster and tells her, "No! No. Just a bit longer, eh? It's been a long time for us, the _Pearl_ an' me. Just a bit longer, there's a love. I'm fine. Really. I'm fine."

**o-o-o-o-o**


	64. Theme: Inspire

**_ Youthful Inspiration _**

Captain John Tobias was a man's man, a pirate's pirate: big and handsome and wild, but canny, and skilled at command. Men vied to crew for him on the _Black Pearl_.

He took Jack, just eighteen, the hero of the Salt Cay incident. Tobias'd heard of it, scoffed, then met Jack and knew he'd found his heir. The Pearls shrugged, but Jack, quicksilver and capable, proved himself. All eyes warmed to the lad.

So, when Jack was made First, everyone saw the justice of it. But Hector's eyes were warm no longer: instead, they blazed deep, with fire and ice.

**o-o-o**  



	65. Theme: 'What Have I Done'

_** A Matter For Regret**_

_"Search every cabin, every hold, down to the bilges!"_

His men scattered, sensing his desire for swift and possibly painful retribution. Yes. Almost _certainly_ painful.

Absurdly, he'd felt some regret over his dealings with Sparrow. His own inability either to prevent Elizabeth's accident or accomplish her rescue had impaired his habitual detachment. Then, the attack on the town had enhanced his remorse. Sparrow was no Barbossa.

But the man _was_, apparently, ripe for Bedlam! Imagining they could take the _Dauntless_! Of all the ludicrous, inconvenient …

The ship gave a slight but hair-raising jolt.

_"Sailors, back to the Interceptor! Now!"_

** o-o-o**  



	66. Theme: Sunday

**_Sunday Dinner_**

Appearances were deceptive, and though Elizabeth had been as quiet and colorless as James had ever seen her all through dinner, he cringed inwardly as the Governor's guest spoke fatal words.

"I declare, I am quite sorry we make our departure at so early an hour tomorrow, and will thus miss the great event. How happy you will all be to see the last of the scoundrels hanged!"

_Oh, my God. Of all the birdwitted…_

The Governor stiffened, but Elizabeth paled, white as the table linens. There was a horrid silence as she glanced up at the three of them, and then she stood, abruptly. "Forgive me. I cannot stay."

James stood, too, as she swept from the room.

"Have I said something amiss?" the idiot widow said, astonished.

James said to Swann, "I'll go to her."

"Thank you, James," said the Governor, and turned to soothe his confused guest.

**o-o-o**

"She's gone out to the gardens – perhaps out to the point, sir," the Governor's butler had told him, looking worried.

As well he might.

James strode out the library's French doors and followed his betrothed.

The afternoon sun shone brightly, but there was a cool breeze. It rustled through the trees and shrubbery of the gardens, and blew chill across the headland where he found Elizabeth standing, hugging herself. She looked smaller than was her wont, against that vast backdrop of blue and silver.

He slowed as he approached, and came to stand close beside her, but he did not touch her, and she did not look at him. There was a long silence between the three of them: James, Elizabeth, and the shining sea. But finally she spoke, her voice not quite steady.

"Would it help if I went on my knees before you? If I begged you to spare him?" She turned to look up at him, still pale, her eyes bright. "I am quite willing to do so."

"Elizabeth!"

She heard him, the pity and admonishment in that one word. Her lip quivered, and she firmed it; an errant tear slipped down her cheek, and she dashed it away. She turned to the sea again.

She was not hugging herself now, and so, after a moment, he dared to take her hand. It was cold and slender in his larger, much warmer one and, though she did not respond, neither did she pull away. But beyond this he could not go. It seemed to him that there was a distance set between them, one that could not be breached. Not now.

_Perhaps never_.

After a time she took a deep breath, and straightened.

He gave her hand a very slight squeeze. "I…I have made him a promise. He will be buried at sea."

The hand trembled a little. When she spoke, her voice was rough with unshed tears. "Not at the Cay?"

"No. Nor in chains by the Thames."

She looked up at him, then, and he could see she understood: it could have gone that way.

She gently withdrew her hand. "We should go back. Mrs. Greene will be speculating, no doubt."

"Elizabeth…" he began, then hesitated. But she raised a cool brow in inquiry. "I wish you will not go tomorrow. There is no need for you to attend."

He only wanted to spare her, but he could see immediately it had been the wrong thing to say. A hard look came into her eyes.

"You are wrong, James," she said, her voice quite steady now. "There is every need." She held his gaze a moment, then turned away, saying, "Come. Let us return to the house."

**o-o-o-o-o **


	67. Theme: Feast

_**Feast**_

Elizabeth held her head high as she was escorted down the passageway to the Great Cabin, where Barbossa was waiting. The dress she'd been given was unlike any she'd ever worn. It was cut in a style that an older woman would wear, and perhaps not a lady. It was designed for seduction, the bodice cut low, the fabric heavy and sensual. It hugged like a lover's embrace where the dress was closely fitted, slid and swirled like waves where it was not. The color of it, that deep, deep red, spoke of a challenge, an invitation. A feast for the senses of wearer and admirer. She could not help wondering where her captor had acquired it, speculations that were edged with dread, and it made her vastly uncomfortable to think that she was to dine with him, alone, dressed in such a garment.

As they approached the door, she stiffened her resolve. The door was opened for her, and she walked in, to a blaze of candles and a table laden with such a decadent display of food that for a moment she could only gape.

"Ah, Miss Turner," said her host, emerging eerily from the shadows beyond the table. "Welcome to the feast."

o-o-o


	68. Theme: 'Bar' and 'Things To Come'

_** Loose **_

"Get in there, young varmint!"

They gave him a shove, and Jack stumbled, falling to the floor of the cell, grazing his hands and knees. He hissed at the pain, the foulest dockside oath he could recall, but the clang of the door swinging home covered it, and then the guards were leaving, their footsteps and banter fading down the dank passage. He rolled to his backside, sitting in the dust to gingerly inspect the damage. His skin would mend, but the hole in his best pair of breeches and the damage to his lace cuffs would not.

He looked up, finally, at the cell door: wide straps of metal in a strong criss-cross pattern, secured with a hefty lock, and only torchlit darkness beyond it. Behind him, though, was another source of light. He got up and turned to face it. A barred window, through which the rays of the moon shone in tantalizing array.

_Oh, cruel!_ Almost against his will he was drawn toward it. Clean silvery light… a fresh scent of cold night air… the faint, steady sound, like the beating of a great heart.… and then the sight, the blessed sight of the sea. Panic assailed him as he stared through the bars at his lost freedom, and what he now faced, instead. He took hold of the iron, cold as death under his hands.

"No!" he said, low but vehement, and he pulled, and then shook at the bars, hard. Harder.

And a small chunk of wall flaked off and fell. He froze, gaping.

Heart thudding for quite another reason now, he jerked at the bars again. It was the one on the right side: _loose!_ He put both hands around it, and turned it with all his strength and, miracle of miracles, it twisted 'round, grating against the stone in which it was seated. He tried lifting it, and it moved that way, too, and another small chunk of wall broke off and shattered.

The noise of it startled him, and he looked furtively around. But the guards were gone, and there seemed to be no other prisoners at present.

Three hours 'til dawn, and maybe a bit more before he was brought before the magistrate. The echo of the guard's words rang in his head, brutally cheerful: _Ol' Morestone'll 'ave the skin off your back, right enough, come the mornin', just see if 'e don't!_

Aye, well, they _would_ just see about that, wouldn't they?

**o-o-o**


	69. Theme: Scorch

**_Scorch_**

"Sun's scorched you, love."

Elizabeth wrinkled her pink nose, and winced further at the tightness of the skin across her cheekbones. She pulled the front of her hat down, but then turned to Jack, sun-dark himself, and darker of eye, with lines of gentle laughter under the kohl he affected.

She chuckled, ruefully. "No one would mistake me for a lady now."

A brow arched toward the edge of his headscarf. "There'd be no mistake." He took up her hand, a casual gesture, and raised it briefly to his lips. "Lady and pirate, both, Lizzie," he said, all soft seduction. "Plain as day."

A smile, teasing and fond, a little squeeze of that hand, and he was off again.

She turned away. The sea was blue and bright. The wind cool. A pulse beat in her throat. And that hand, gripping the rail before her, was scorched now, as well.

**o-o-o-o-o **


	70. Theme: Piercing

_**Piercing**_

His body is a map of his life, his skin pierced so many times – by needle, dagger, sword, pistol shot -- 'tis a wonder he'd survived long enough to be joined again with his darling.

Marks of accident and design. Scars of love and bitter hate.

Now, at the last, this Beastie means to pierce, its malevolence poised to swallow him whole, with that which he loves most.

But no matter.

He's thrown off fear, and his needs are few. His freedom. His courage.

His sword.

This time, at the end of all things, it's Jack who'll do the piercing.

**o-o-o **


	71. Theme: Ice

**_ Iceman  
_**  
They traveled 'round the Horn in December, and had a remarkably easy time of it, praise be.

"Midsummer's Eve, darlin'" Jack said, laughing. "Fortune favors the wicked."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, blew on her hands, and stayed topside as long as she could, but Jack finally ordered her back to the warmth of the cabin and their bed. He was freezing, too, of course -- he wore most of his clothing in layers, as well as furs and mufflers and gloves of fine wool -- but he wouldn't leave the _Pearl_'s helm, not in these waters. Watch on watch, and watch again.

She was asleep when he came in at last, and she didn't wake until he'd shed his damp clothes and was crawling into bed beside her.

"You're like ice!" she squeaked.

"S'truth," he grinned, teeth clamped against chattering, snuggling determinedly. "What say you melt me, eh, love?"

"Oh, you dreadful man." She squirmed, but gave up and gathered him in, wrapping herself around him, and the blankets around them both, shivering with cold and heat.

"Ah. That's good." He kissed her nose. "I'll melt you back, shall I?"

"Yes. But not until your hands are warm."

He chuckled.


	72. Theme: Figure

_**A Fine Figure **_

Elizabeth dressed as a sailor lad was certainly a sight to behold. Jack had passed the word to the crew immediately, of course: _Off Limits_. However, being the captain, he himself had certain proprietory rights. As it were. Watching the fair Lizzie climb the ratlines, or lean against the rail, breeze in her hair, trews just a touch too tight across that lovely backside, became one of his favorite occupations over the next few days. Took his mind off other, more worrisome things.

He was deeply involved in one such instance of observation when he became aware that he was being addressed.

"Captain. _Captain!_"

Norrington, plague take it. Jack magnanimously ignored the rude tone, but lifted a brow at the _ex_-Commodore's expression, and smirked, just a little. Caught out. Well, why deny it? He gave a nod, referencing Crewmember Swann. "Fine figure of a woman, ain't she?"

Lord. If looks could kill, the bloody Kraken would be a moot point.


	73. Theme: Sinking

_** Scuppered **_

"_Ship ahoy!_"

"_Where away?_" Jack rifled the pocket of his justacorps for his glass.

"Off the starboard bow, Captain," shouted Gibbs.

Jack strode swiftly to his First's side and raised the spyglass, looking narrowly at the distant vessel. "She's English."

Gibbs' face fell. "Blast. We could've used a spot of profit -- _and_ fresh vittles, and rum."

"Let's change course. We should be on her within the hour."

"We're goin' after an English ship?"

"Aye." Jack stowed his glass. "Wouldn't count on the swag, though. Someone's been before us."

"She's adrift?"

"Sinking, actually. Scurry along, eh? Sharks're fat enough 'round here."

.


	74. Theme: Alone

**_ Alone _**

"Do you think we'll succeed?" Elizabeth did not look at Will, but kept her eyes on the grey swells, and her hands on the rail. She felt Will's eyes on her, however.

After a moment, he spoke, his voice clipped. "We'll find him. Not a doubt of that."

He turned away, leaving her side to go below, without another word. She felt cold, but couldn't help being relieved.

o-o-o

Barbossa came up beside her, presently.

"Well, missy."

She glanced up. "Mr. Barbossa."

The scraggly head tilted and the mouth twitched. "It's 'captain', Miss _Swann_."

She shivered within, still unused to him addressing her as 'Swann'. He had not known her true identity before his… death. The name had an ill sound, coming from those lips. She nodded, briefly. "'Captain', then. For a while."

He gave a small snort. 'Ye think Jack'll be back in command soon as we find 'im."

Misliking the jeering tone, she stared him down. "I know he will."

Barbossa grinned – a rather horrible sight. "There, now. Even the governor's daughter isn't proof against Jack Sparrow's wiles."

Hot color crept up her neck. She turned her face to the sea.

Barbossa took a step closer and casually placed his hand on the rail close beside hers. "Jack's not like to forgive so easily as that, Miss Swann. Best consider all your options."

She was pleased that her white-knuckled grip on the rail was the only sign of her very considerable discomfiture. _Oh, Will_. But that was no use. "You're mad," she snapped.

"Mad?" She could hear the oily smile. "Maybe. Quick, though, too. With all it implies."

He moved his hand to pat hers, proprietary, condescending, and she betrayed herself, breath catching as she twisted to look at him in anger, in horror. 

He _was_ smiling, and his eyes slid down to linger where the first tie of her shirt had come loose. "Options, Miss Swann."

Another pat, and then he turned away.

The grey swells rose beneath the ship, and the cool wind gusted. Elizabeth tied her shirt again, with trembling hands.

o-o-o


	75. Theme: Sharp

**_ Sharp _**

"Keep a sharp eye!"

A sharp eye?! Will stared after Sparrow, who swayed away to where the swinish newcomer, Joshamee Gibbs, was seated. The man seemed oddly familiar, but Will didn't trust him or Sparrow an inch.

Nor _any_ of this company, for that matter. Raucous. Ill bred. Violent. Not a decent soul amongst them.

Sparrow and Gibbs hunched over their tankards, intent on mischief, while vice roiled around them.

_The Faithful Bride_. Someone's idea of a jest?

He'd have to have a _dozen_ sharp eyes! A _hundred!_

Well, he'd a sharp sword. That would have to suffice.

Bloody pirates.

o-o-o


	76. Theme: Bell

_Written for the 'Bell' drabble challenge at Black Pearl Sails_

* * *

_** Belle **_

_Bloody Turners_. Jack pushed the end of Will's sword aside and, holding onto his temper with both hands (really, it was too much, asking him to deal with a Bloody Turner after the ordeal he'd just been through), pulled the drawing of the key from his pocket and spread it for the whelp's perusal. "William," he said, with Infinite Patience, "I shall trade you the Compass, if you will help me to find this."

Will looked entirely baffled – an expression typical of Bloody Turners. He was Bootstrap's get, all right. He said, "You want me to find this?"

"No," Jack replied. _Infinite Patience_. "You want you to find this. Because the finding of this finds you incapacitorially finding and/or locating and discovering the detecting of a way to save your dolly belle ol'... what's 'er face. Savvy?"

Jack resisted the urge to both shiver and smack himself. _What's 'er face_, indeed. Miss Elizabeth Bloody-Minded Face-of-an-Angel Soul-of-a-Pirate Swann. Dream and nightmare rolled into one maddening, gorgeous girl. GIRL. He was old enough to be her FATHER. Well, possibly. Nearly, at least. And she was certainly a babe in arms to his hoary hoard of Vast Experience. He knew this, and it DIDN'T MATTER. She made him new, somehow. And scared him to death.

How he wished she would GO AWAY.

Except… not really.

Bloody Whip-out-his-sword-at-the-drop-of-a-hat Turner was speaking again.

"This is going to save Elizabeth?"

Save Elizabeth? Did the whelp not know her at all? Jack got a grip, forcibly shoving his mental image of the delectable and extremely capable Miss Swann behind him, and addressed the little problem at hand. "How much do you know about Davy Jones?"

"Not much."

Of course not. And explanations were always so tedious. _Two_ bloody Turners: Will would be safe as houses, and Davy Jones wouldn't stand a chance. "Yeah," Jack said. "It's gonna save Elizabeth."

o-o-o


	77. Theme: Rattle

_Written for the 'Rattle' prompt at Black Pearl Sails, and the 'Settling Debts' at potcdogwatch on Live Journal._

* * *

_** Her Pets **_

There was a breeze in the locker. The sand blew along the ground, tiny drifts forming and unforming. Not that he could feel either sand or breeze, or the glaring sun's heat. No scent of anything at all, either, good or bad. There was light, of course, illuminating sun and sand. No hope of stars. No bosom of blue ocean.

Sand was his bed, and he stilled, closing his eyes against the sameness. Despair whispered, seductive. But he couldn't focus. There was an odd rattling, cracking, click clacking. _Bones_, he thought.

He opened one eye. Not bones. Crabs.

"That's interesting."

o-o-o


	78. Theme: Error

_** Grave Error **_

"Sparrow's disappeared, sir. We've had word that his ship was sighted off Barbados a month back. He should've made port here ..."

"A week ago. At least."

Beckett's voice... Mercer thrilled to the mix of fear and that strange euphoria he felt more and more often at the imminence of cruelty.

Beckett said, "You are certain? There has been no mishap? Though I don't recall that there were storms, particularly, in the last weeks."

"No," Mercer assured his employer. "There is no error. The ship is gone, out of our reckoning."

Beckett was silent for a moment, expressionless but for a slow tightening of his full lips. Then the man turned his cool gaze on Mercer once more. "You are mistaken. There has been a grave error. Most grave. I'm afraid the cost will be... painfully high. For us. And most certainly for Captain Jack Sparrow."

Mercer shivered.

o-o-o


	79. Theme: Nothing

_** Nothing! **_

"Nothing!" he says -- shivering in his boots, his back 'gainst the doors to the Great Cabin. Well, I knew that for a lie. Jack's an odd duck, but he ain't a coward, not that I've ever seen and I've been with him, off an' on, for a good many years. So this _nothing _was sure to be _something_, something real bad.

He told me the next mornin'. The Kraken! And his deal with Jones. Beckett, and the slaves, and the _Pearl _before she _was_ the _Pearl_, burning in the night -- the hot metal Beckett had laid on Jack's wrist was nothing to _that _pain.

He says to me, "You tell the others, Josh," and he didn't have to ask twice. I felt for him, aye, and I was a mite concerned for the rest of us as well. But what a tale! Had sea turtles beat to flinders.

o-o-o


	80. Theme: Spark

_Written for the 'Spark' drabble challenge at Black Pearl Sails._

* * *

_** Only a Kiss **_

She should have known better.

From their first meeting, dazed and dripping on the dock at Port Royal, there had been a heat and a truth between them. She might be young, and yet a maid, but she knew enough. He was different. This was different. It was something she had never experienced before, not even with Will.

He was not the pirate from her storybooks. And she was not the lady she'd been bred to be.

She should have remembered why she'd been wary, why she'd kept her distance. She should have known a kiss wasn't only a kiss.

o-o-o


	81. Theme: Memory

_Written for the PotCDogwatch challenge to write a memory, in character._

* * *

_** The Right Words **_

"No! NOT GOOD!" Bloody hell, that's all I could manage to get out when I woke to the smell of smoke, followed by the sight of Lizzie burning all that beautiful rum – and everything else. Devious wench. I knew she was spirited, and hot-at-hand, but to risk both our lives on such a wager?

I could've murdered her! Which she knew, though she didn't let on, not then.

Not 'til I came back up the beach to her, Norrington's lot trailin' behind. She didn't gloat, looked a bit sick, actually, and says, "I had to, Jack. Thank you for not shooting me."

Well, I couldn't deny she'd saved us, so I just told her, "Don't mention it, love," and she smiled again.

Bloody, beautiful _pirate_.

o-o-o


	82. Theme: Snow

_Written for the 'Snow' prompt on Drabbles100, and for the 'Trunk' prompt at Black Pearl Sails._

* * *

**Snow**

Ice began to slide by them in the frigid water. When the first flakes of snow began to fall, Will said to Elizabeth, "Come below. There's no use freezing when you're not on watch."

"No. Not now. I need to stay." She stood silent at the rail, looking out at the vast ocean, hugging herself against the cold.

Barbossa beckoned Will. "There's a trunk in the aft hold," he said quietly. "Fetch 'er something."

It was of oriental design, rosewood bound with brass and, on opening it, Will discovered it full of fur rugs and capes. He took the finest of them for her.

With a brief nod to Barbossa, Will placed the cape, warm and soft, around Elizabeth's slender shoulders.

"Oh! Thank you!" She turned to him.

Her smile, the first they'd exchanged in days, dazzled him, and his heart ached for love-- and for what might have been.

o-o-o


	83. Theme: Tentacles

_A/U for AWE, this was written for the 'Tentacles' challenge at potcdogwatch on Live Journal.  
_

* * *

_** Chinese Take Out **_

Sao Feng studied the group assembled at his table in the Great Cabin of the _Empress_. The beautiful Elizabeth Swann, who was so much more than she seemed – a warrior, certainly. A goddess, perhaps? Time would tell. Her young man, the intrepid William Turner, was possessed of a darkness, and a deadly determination. That one would bear watching. Tia Dalma, a witch if ever he'd seen one, yet strangely pleasing to the eye. Barbossa: an old friend, though one could hardly call him such without cynicism. Untrustworthy, and lacking finesse -- but his skills would be valuable in the coming conflict.

And Sparrow: slippery and mischievous as an eel. How good it had been to finally meet with him again, and give him a taste of what he so richly deserved.

Ah! And here would be another taste. He said to the company, "Seven Precious Treasures – our chef's own recipe!" as the old auntie ladled the soup into their waiting bowls.

Elizabeth Swann inhaled its fragrance, her eyelids, like pale shells, sinking in delight. "Oh, lovely!" she breathed.

Barbossa said, "Haven't had a meal this fine since we left the Caribbean. I thankee, Sao Feng."

Sao Feng nodded gravely, but kept his eye on Sparrow. The beautiful pirate (Sao Feng would hit harder, next time) stared at his bowl in dawning distaste; picked up the chop sticks and deftly plucked an object, dripping from the soup: the smallest and tenderest of squid, tentacles delicately curled.

Sparrow raised a jaundiced eye to Sao Feng's. "I suppose this is your idea of a joke."

Sao Feng merely smiled.

o-o-o


	84. Theme: Work

_** Not Working **_

The food ran out before the rum, so that was all right, but the water looked like being next and he had to admit that wasn't a good sign., considering the lack of wind. And the compass, the damned compass, had stopped working. Or started working. The wrong way. Again.

It was hot, too.

Not that he wasn't used to heat, and scant rations, and even sailing the open seas in a dinghy, on little to no sleep. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, wasn't he?

But the compass had stopped working.

A couple of nights previous it had been. The wind had failed at dusk, and the sea had lost her bounce. As the stars came out, even the swells faded, and finally there was little to choose between sea and night sky, adrift amid the light of diamonds.

Rowing was too much like work, particularly when one hadn't eaten in a day or two. Would've spoiled the stillness, in any case. Much better and far less complicated to lay back, snug, nursing his bottle, watching eternity at play.

Only, he fell asleep.

_To sleep, perchance to dream, aye, there's the rub._

Despite his recalcitrant aid to navigation, he thought he'd rid himself of the habit of dreaming of her. Of improved scenery and infinitely better company. Bonfires and burning rum. The way he'd known she was trouble even before he laid eyes on her, slumbering Siren on the sea bed calling a man to his doom. The way she'd berated them all on his behalf, at one time or another, including himself. Of a kiss, reward and punishment, infinitely sweet, and bitter as death.

He was burning. Burning.

His eyes flicked open to a hot, windless morning in which the rum was gone, yet again.

Not the Locker, but so very _not_ good.

He took up his compass and opened it.

A lesser man might have given in to despair at this point.

He was not, however, a lesser man. He settled, and pulled his hat down over his eyes, and cursed the bloody sun, and would have cursed bloody Elizabeth Swann, too... only she was Turner now, wasn't she? Captain and King. Though still that coltish girl dancing 'round the fire in her shift. That would never change.

_Devils and black sheep and really bad eggs._

Bloody, beautiful Elizabeth.

He slept again, after a while, and dreamed again, disturbing dreams in which that _distressing damsel_ transformed to a _damsel in distress_ for no reason he could discern. He was muttering about it, and thrashing a bit, when the dream changed and the _Flying Dutchman_ rose, magnificent and dripping, from the depths.

The dinghy barely shifted when the Ferryman stepped aboard and crouched beside Jack. A horrid chill swept through him and he croaked, "Dead?" But it was all right. Will shook his head, his strange eyes dark and kind, and his mouth formed words familiar and comforting, though they had no sound but the sea.

o-o-o


	85. Theme: Apologies

_**-o- Apologies -o-  
**_

_I'm not sorry._

Had she ever spoken words less true?

A volatile mix of fear, anger, lust, and bloody-minded determination, had spurred her on. They would _not_ be killed for Jack's bargain with the Devil, not if she could help it. And help it she had, in a scene of seduction and betrayal worthy of the Theatre Royal.

Actress.

_Pirate._

But _Liar_ hit the mark.

Tia Dalma said there was a way, and Elizabeth would spend herself in journeying to the ends of the earth to make it right.

And for that, in truth, she would not be sorry.

**o-o-o**


	86. Theme: Terms

**o-o _Name Your Terms _o-o**

** Jack - CotBP  
**

"Name your terms, Mr. Turner."

_Elizabeth goes free!_ and _The crew are not to be harmed._ Bloody hell. Did the whelp have no imagination at all?

And he'd completely ignored Jack's subtle pantomime. Had he not seen, or was this the same malice that had inspired that oar-to-the-head trick?

An internal whisper (doubtless a lingering effect of that same oar-to-the-head trick) suggested that it was just possible the situation would have benefited from a more liberal exchange of information on Jack's part.

Possible. But not probable.

Difficult not to succumb to self-doubt, however, when one's spine shivered at Barbossa's _Agreed!_

**o-o-o**

**Elizabeth - DMC  
**

"As I said: persuade me."

At sword's point? Or by… _other means_. Elizabeth 's objections caught in her throat at the wicked look Jack was giving her, suggestive of precisely what _other means_ might prove efficacious. Unable to speak, she lifted her chin and stomped away, retreating down the deck to cool her cheeks out of range of his knowing gaze.

Those _other means_ chased after her, though, dancing through her, outrageous, sly, and teasing as Jack himself. A giggle welled up, and though she did not permit herself such an indignity, she could not help but smile.

Bloody pirate!

** o-o-o **

**Will - Post-AWE**

"I won't let you do it!"

"You've your family to think about, Will. You've done your ten years. They'll be waiting for you."

Will said bitterly, "It won't be ten years for you. Mother's gone."

"She is, bless her soul. She was a good woman. I've no regrets: she gave me you. But she wasn't my first love, nor my last. It's all arranged – and this one's always had my heart."

Will stiffened. "Arranged? Did Jack have something to do with this?"

Bootstrap just smiled. "Jack put a word in, aye. He's had Calypso's ear for a good long time."

**o-o-o-o-o **


	87. Theme: Mess

_** Lockers **_

Jack woke from one nightmare (shackles, Kraken, teeth, excruciating pain) into another (white heat, the _Pearl _stilled in an endless, airless waterless, _timeless_ waste).

The Locker.

Not good.

He ran.

Heart thudding, straight for his cabin, boots pounding the black deck, fingers clawing at the door, tearing it open with startling ease, slamming it shut behind him, and in that split second remembering the destruction wrought by the Dutchman's bow cannon.

Except it hadn't, apparently.

It was as though time had stopped the morning before they'd reached Isla Cruces. Map stretched upon the table, straightedge atop it, ink and quill beside it. Blankets rumpled. Stern intact, gallery windows admitting the hellish glare. And there was the bottle of rum he'd been nursing - the same one with which he'd tempted... Elizabeth.

He sank against the door, something shifting inside, tilting disastrously.

"Clean your cabin, sir?"

His gaze slid left. Jack. The cabin boy.

A horridly similar voice on his right soothed, "Just go with it, mate. Spot o' rum'll set you up."

Rum.

Gathering himself, and the one bottle, he nodded to Jack. And Jack. "Carry on."

Who knew what other areas of the ship might yet be intact?

o-o-o


	88. Theme: Mist

_** Mists of Time **_

Teague's in the midst of a cozy pipe in the common room the first night the Pirate King descends and enters with her newborn to general acclaim. It's been a few days, now, and the babe looks better than he had at first, sated, swaddled, and working at a nap. His mother has a glow about her, and Jackie's hovering, a look on his face and a light in his eyes that make the mists of time roll back.

Forty years ago it was Isabelle glowing, and himself hovering.

Just the same.

And yet… not.

But then the Ferryman's bride glances up at Jackie with her own look and light, and a smile that's just for him, and Teague knows it's all right.

Somehow, it's going to be all right.

o-o-o


	89. Theme: Clean

_** Crying Wolf **_

Heart thudding, Elizabeth left Jamie in the common room, with Kate to watch him, and quickly ascended to her rooms, abandoning calm as she went, and fairly running up the last short staircase. She threw open the door, then froze upon the threshold. "Jack!"

An eyelid lifted, and he frowned. "Close the door, will you? I'll catch me death!"

He was soaking in her newly acquired, very ornately enameled bathtub, which was placed comfortably before the cheerful fire. Wisps of steam rose from the surface of the water, from the spout of a kettle that simmered on the hob, and from a tankard that sat close at hand, full of some warm (and presumably spirited) libation.

Elizabeth felt like tearing her hair. "They told me you'd been _wounded!_"

"I was! Helpin' the lads with a broken pump and barked me shin right smartly." Jack set a shapely ankle on the edge of the tub, and wiggled his toes at her. "See?"

Fuming, she shut the door, set the bolt, and stalked over. There was a nasty-looking bruise, but it was far from life-threatening.

He assumed a pitiful mien. "Hurt like the devil. Feels a bit better now, though," he assured her.

"Hmmmph." She narrowed her eyes. "Ragetti and Pintel implied you were practically at death's door. I wonder what can have given them that impression?"

"Well..." He put his leg back in the warm water. "Might've been something I said. Got you up here quick, didn't it?"

"You...!" She briefly ground her teeth. "Haven't you ever heard the story of the Boy Who Cried Wolf?"

"Can't say as I have. Why don't you come in and tell me about it?"

She gaped, briefly. "Jamie--"

"Kate's got him, right?"

"I was in the middle of--"

"It can wait, can't it?"

"I don't think--"

"I missed you." He peered up at her from under his absurdly long eyelashes, looking pitiful again. "Didn't you miss me?"

She threw up her hands. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Scrub me back? And tell me the story of the Boy and the Wolf?"

She shook her head, _not_ smiling. But she pulled loose the ties on her shirt and said, unsteadily, "The story of the Knave and the King, more like."

o-o-o


	90. Theme: Victory

_**o-o Dear Victory o-o  
**_

_**How beautiful is victory, but how dear!**_**  
**- Marquis Stanislas Jean de Boufflers

* * *

Gibbs was gamely trotting down the quarterdeck steps and into the joyful melee when Jack sensed Barbossa at his shoulder.

"I have to hand it to ye, lad. Ye knew what you were about."

Jack smiled a little and said, with what he felt was pardonable satisfaction, "I often do, Hector."

Jones and Beckett dead. The EITC armada turning tail. Will's promise and destiny fulfilled, in spite of Jack's immortal aspirations. And Jack's gaze moved to rest on a slight, still figure in gray and black, standing at the rail, looking out, toward the _Dutchman_. Very still, but very much alive.

"Shame about Mrs. Turner, though, ain't it?"

Jack's little smile froze on his face. A beat of silence. Then the other Jacks watched in awe as he glanced at Barbossa, and said, disinterestedly, "You married them?"

Barbossa chuckled, looking at Jack sidelong, like a cat in cream. "Aye. In the midst of it, it was. Ye would've been right amused." And he gave Jack a pat on the back before he turned away.

Jack didn't even wince, his stillness now an echo of that slim, distant figure's. And somehow he was quite sure he would not have been amused.

o-o-o


	91. Theme: Five

** Bitter Harvest**

"Five lashes be owed, I believe it is."

Years since he'd laid eyes on Will and now it came to this. A roar of despair escaped Bill as the Captain thrust the whip at him.

As well ask mercy of the sea.

"The cat's out of the bag, Mister Turner," Jones gloated. "Your issue will feel its sting, be it by the Bo'sun's hand, or your own."

He'd seen what the bo'sun could do to a man.

They stripped the shirt from Will's flawless back. Bill gathered himself, shuddering, and wondered at the efficacy of Jack's revenge, witting or no.


	92. Theme: Slight

** All of Them Are True  
**  
It was true Jack Sparrow had saved her life, but as Elizabeth watched Norrington's distain and manhandling of her pirate, she thought the rest must have been exaggeration, if not outright lies. How could the slight, dripping, bedraggled figure before her be the hero of all those tales she loved? She was moved to defend the poor creature, berating both Norrington and her father on Sparrow's behalf, but seemingly to no avail.

And then, in a flash, the chain was 'round her neck, the breath of a feral yet melodious voice was in her ear, and she no longer doubted.


	93. Themes: Catch and Exact

_** Seed of Obsession **_

James spent the remainder of that one day in a seemingly dispassionate review of the blows he had taken, personally and professionally. The ramifications were grim. Possibly dire. He had done what he could, there on the parapet, to act the gentleman and friend, but there were many that could, and would, attest to his failure as a representative of the Crown.

His personal difficulties could be set aside. There was nothing more to do in that quarter. But Sparrow… James' lip curled, seeing the pirate's ridiculous exit over and over in his mind's eye. The man was the antithesis of everything James held dear: honor, dignity, respect for the law.

A steely determination grew in James. His accomplishments, his lifelong devotion to duty, must not be allowed to come to nothing. His professional position must be regained, beyond the shadow of a doubt.

One day was more than enough.

o-o-o

_** Seed of Despair **_

Having resigned his commission, James had walked up the long road to the Governor's house, to take leave of the family. Swann greeted him with concern and regret, and they conversed as though James' plan to return to England portended some sort of hope for the future.

Then, Elizabeth entered the room.

Somehow James had forgotten, whether willfully or no. But at that moment, he was struck anew, not only by her beauty (and certainly, she was more beautiful than any other woman of his acquaintance), but by her spirit. Her gravity. The way her heart shone in her eyes – yes, even before, when desperate and willfully duplicitous. Of course he'd known. And still he loved her. Still.

It was precisely at that moment that James began his slide into the depths.

"She loved you, too." Turner's own eyes, strange and solemn, speak the truth.

James nods. "But not enough."

**o-o-o-o-o **


	94. Theme: Bust

_** Harbinger of Doom **_

We'd just set our course east, out of the Caribbean – headed for Turkey of all places, though we didn't know that, Jack kept it to himself for the longest time – when we ran into a plump little Dutch merchantman and Jack decided to take her, in spite of the _Pearl_'s near-full hold. She was an easy mark, and we soon had her laid by the heels, so to speak, her crew trussed up and locked in the foc'sle,_our_ crew makin' free of the hold and aft cabins. Jack found a few books and charts he liked in the captain's quarters, though it appeared the man had an execrable taste in spirits.

"Nothing but Genever in there, Gibbs," Jack said, as he emerged onto the deck. "Can't stomach the stuff, meself. But what's this?" He waved a hand forward, where some of the lads had just hoisted a stoutly built, heavy wooden crate up from the hold. "That's some sort of artwork, if I know anything of the matter. Let's have a look."

It took some doing– Jack didn't want whatever-it-was damaged, and told 'em to take care opening it. They were finally able to loosen one of the panels and pried it up. Jack himself took his knife and cut the waterproofed canvas that covered the thing, and brushed aside the straw packing. There was a further wrapping of thick soft fabric about it, but you could tell what it was, from the shape.

"A bust!" says Jack. "Let's see who it is. If it's one of those old Roman fellas, it might be worth a fair bit."

Well, it weren't no old Roman. Jack slit the covering and it curled away from the marble, and it was the cold, white effigy of Cutler Beckett.

I disremember when I've seen an expression like that on Jack's phiz.

"Throw it overboard," he snapped, when he'd come back to himself enough to speak.

"But Captain—" one of the lads helping us started to object, but Jack gives him a_look_ and he changed his tune right smart. "Aye, Captain, right away."

Jack and I stood and watched. They shoved it over and there was a mighty splash, and then it was gone, sinking fast into the briney.

"Good riddance to a bad piece of art, eh?" I said, trying for a lighter air.

Jack's jaw worked some, but then he gave a sort of shudder, and took a deep breath. "Aye. Let's hope that's all it is."

**o-o-o-o-o **


	95. Theme: Inch

_Two for the "Inch" drabble challenge at Black Pearl Sails... _

* * *

_**o-o Give Him An Inch o-o  
**_

The blade'd been broken, but it'd been deadly sharp and only an inch away.

Yet the moment was too sweet. He'd _had_ to gloat. "Heady tonic, holding life and death in the palm of one's hand."

"You're a cruel man, Jack Sparrow!"

Lord, that was rich, coming from Jones. "Cruel is a matter of perspective," Jack had replied, with gentle malice.

"Oh, is it now?"

The scene played behind Jack's eyes, over and over, on the way to Tortuga. Almost as bad as the Locker.

One inch to immortality, and happily ever after.

Might as well have been a mile.

* * *

_**o-o "Kiss Me" o-o  
**_

She'd been drinking, or she'd never have said it, maudlin and needy in the face of fate. She'd never have come to him at all, but when he'd caught and cornered her in that shadowed alcove, her eyes pleading, her wet cheeks flushed with more than just loss, he knew he had her.

The air had never been cleared between them. Her guilt and his wounded pride were the weight that held them apart, though it shackled them together, too. Most of the time she was pirate enough to set it aside. Most of the time he was good man enough to pretend he didn't enjoy her weaker moments.

He'd been drinking, as well. But not enough.

So that inch brushed by, and he breathed into her ear, "It's the rum talking, Lizzie." Then he held her, until she'd calmed, and the weight, somewhat lessened, settled in place once more.

**o-o-o-o-o **


	96. Theme: I should have

_Two for the "I should have..." drabble challenge theme at Black Pearl Sails. Many thanks to Hereswith for editing!**  
**_

* * *

_**o-o Catch the Wind o-o **_

His darling wife gone to dust along with their son, and now Elizabeth, too, the light of his days. What now did it matter who had won, or what he became?

"I'm sorry, Governor," Norrington said, and there was honest emotion in the man's face.

Weatherby rasped, "I should have been… stricter in her upbringing." But a sob of laughter escaped. An absurd thing to say, given who she was. Who he was. And the degree to which everything had gone wrong.

Norrington smiled, but the hand he put to Weatherby's shoulder gripped hard. They were one in their grief.

* * *

_**o-o "She Needs You" o-o **_

"_She needs you!_" Jack spat. "_Needs__ you!_ Bloody hell, I should've told Will to shove 'is _needs you_ right up 'is arse!"

As his angry tone and the revelation that he'd seen Will had finally rendered her speechless, Jack took a full second to glare at her, then turned on his heel and strode away, back down the shadowed, echoing passage. She found her voice -- "Jack! _Jack!!_" -- but he ignored it in favor of his internal diatribe, against her, against Will, against himself. But then there was a noise of steps, then running, then, as he turned to berate her for carelessness, she stumbled, and a heartstopping cry of fright escaped her as she went down.

"'Liz'beth--" he choked, and the seconds it took to get back to her stretched out horribly. He dropped to his knees and slid the last couple of feet to her, but she was already turning to sit, awkwardly. "Are you all right?" he demanded, catching her shoulders in his hands and biting back the urge to give her a shake and a blue streak of profanity. His hands gripped her, though, and she reached up with her own and grabbed his wrists, just as tightly.

"You saw Will?" she demanded, her eyes fixed on his, tears on her cheeks.

"Aye. _Are you all right?_ What the devil were you doing _running?_" And he gave her a shake anyway, just a little one.

"Yes! I mean... I think so."

His eyes traveled irresistibly down, to that swelling low under her loose shirt, and he let go of her shoulders. Then, when he hesitated, she drew his wrists, his hands down and held them flat against her. Against... them. There was a strong, fluttering movement beneath shirt and skin and muscle, and Jack's brows rose. He lifted his eyes to hers, and a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "Lively one."

"You've no idea," she said, dryly. But then her humor faded, and she spoke, almost in a whisper: "Oh, Jack. How did I get here?"

He knew what she meant. Governor's daughter. Born and raised in luxury most only dream of. Her happy-ever-after stolen by Will's touch of destiny. A pawn in Jack's own game, Pirate King, which was all right as far as it went. "Not what you'd planned, is it?" he said, a bit ruefully.

She shook her head, her gaze faltering. But then she took a deep breath. "You saw Will? Does he know?"

"Aye. It's tearin' 'im up, that he can't come. He told me... asked me..." His voice trailed off. Ridiculous to think she'd --

"I do."

His breath caught at the look in her eyes.

"Need you," she clarified. She pressed his left hand more firmly against her body, but lifted the right and kissed his fingers.

"Don't--" he began.

But she held him fast. "Yes! I'm sorry. For not greeting you as you deserved. For... for everything."

He said nothing, and gently loosed her grip, to her obvious dismay. But he turned and sat down beside her on the sole, and put his arm around her shoulders, and she eased against him with a sigh. He took up her hand. "Seems the lad's not a eunuch after all," he said, letting just a touch of laughter into his voice. "One day."

"One day."

There was something, something in her voice. He said, quietly, "Are you afraid?"

She seemed to stiffen, but after a moment she said, "My mother died in childbed." She sat up straight beside him, though, her hand still in his and looked him in the eye. "Will you stay?"

"I'm afraid, too," he told her, and that made her chuckle. He drew her close again. "I'll stay. I reckon the pair of us can face just about anything."

**o-o-o-o-o **


	97. Theme: Triangle

_**o-o Fickle o-o **_

There was no question, the _Black_ _Pearl_ knew when Jack and his skiff came into sight. Barbossa could sense the change in her, and sure enough, not five minutes later, there was a cry from the crow's nest.

"_Ship ahoy! It's the Captain!_"

That was Marty, damn his eyes. Barbossa scowled, vowing to have a word – and more than a word – with the hell-born imp.

Her _true_ captain gripped the spokes of the wheel to adjust their course and felt a trembling shiver run through her. Cheers sounded as the _Pearl_'s speed increased by a knot or more.

_Faithless jade._

**o-o-o-o-o **


	98. Themes: Blue, Red, Gold, and Green

These W/E drabbles were written for the last four challenges at Black Pearl Library, sister community to Black Pearl Sails. They are dedicated to Kahva, and I thank Hereswith for beta reading!

* * *

**o-o _Caribbean Blue_ o-o**

The unnatural fog and smoke of destruction lay far behind by the next morning. Will had recovered from his ordeal enough to be allowed on deck, and he picked his way forward to where Miss Swann was standing by the rail in the sun.

She turned to him, her smile wide. "Will!"

It wasn't the sun that made his cheeks burn, and he swallowed hard at the thrill of…_something_ that went straight through him. "Good morning, Miss Swann," he managed.

"I'm so glad you're better. Look!" Her arm swept outward. "Father says we're well into the Caribbean now. Have you ever in your life seen such a beautiful blue?"

Will glanced at the sparkling sea, but his eyes were drawn irresistibly back to his companion's face, and the lace and azure satin of her gown. "Never," he assured her, and smiled himself, for the first time in many hours.

o-o-o

**o-o**_** Blood Red **_**o-o**

They'd hardly spoken during the voyage back from the Isla de Muerta, but finally Will could bear it no longer, and came to her, as he'd done that first morning, came to her where she stood at the rail, the horizon fading from blood red to their final night.

"We'll be home tomorrow," she said, without preamble.

Her tone was so wistful, so determined, that he felt suddenly ashamed of his resentments. She had saved him, and with the only currency she could call her own.

He saw her wince, after she gripped the rail unthinking. "Does your hand still hurt?" he asked, quickly.

She turned it over, and the slash looked raw. He was moved to do the same, setting his own hand beside hers, not touching. He said, slowly, "You, and me. And Jack."

"Pirates!" she whispered, and her eyes told him the rest, before she walked away.

o-o-o

**o-o Precious Gold** **o-o**

After the gray of the last months, when horror, suspicion, and fear had lain so often like a weight upon their souls, there was this one day, their One Day, and Calypso blessed it with a beauty that freed them and made them whole again. He was no heartless immortal. She was no pirate king. Only a man and a woman, tied by vows, by love, the sins of the past as dust, the promise of the future a dream.

Though others had imparted knowledge, those moments were their own, innocence and flesh, laughter and tears, theirs alone, beneath the sun. The very sand and stone of that place, the very air of it was gold, and gold they were themselves, skin of satin, hair of silk, eyes with depths that spoke truths and made promises that could not be doubted, and would keep them for the years to come.

o-o-o

**o-o ****Fiddler's Green ****o-o**

The_ Dutchman_ was gone, and Elizabeth, Will, and Jamie walked in silence across the fields, the three of them holding hands, a family, complete. Elizabeth smiled to see their son so subdued, and would warn Will later that this was hardly Jamie's usual way. But Will didn't seem to mind, striding with measured steps, taking time to savor each touch of foot to earth.

When they reached the top of the slope at last, Jamie broke his silence. "See, Father? There it is: Home!"

They all stopped, and Elizabeth watched Will, wondering what he was thinking. It had been so long, and so much had happened. Family and friends might not be enough. But his face was alight as he faced that new horizon, alight with a promise fulfilled.

He said to them, "It looks like Heaven to me, from here." And his crooked smile told her it would be.

**o-o-o-o-o **


	99. Theme: Glimpse

_**That glimpse of ankle...**_

She was different, Elizabeth was. Bloody _Miss Swann. _So full of romantical pirate tales, so sure of herself, even after repeated and undeniably unpleasant encounters with Barbossa and his gaggle of miscreants. Jack's blood ran cold, remembering her shrieks as they'd laid rough hands upon her, before Will had shown up. Could've been a bad business. She'd done all right, though. Even made that long swim to shore without much help from him.

The _Pearl _was a dot on the horizon now. Jack's blood ran both cold and hot at that, and he continued cleaning his pistol with special care. But he had to admit, the sight of _Miss Swann_ approaching, barefoot in the sand, her shift gathered out of the way just enough to afford him a glimpse of strong, shapely ankle, did much to improve the outlook.

Rum and Miss Elizabeth Swann. At least he wouldn't be bored.

o-o-o-o-o


	100. Theme: Discuss

_** Catching Flies **_

"Jack!"

"No!"

"You're being childish."

"Am not."

"You _are_, and—"

Jack whirled, blanched and visibly fought back the urge to swear as he put too much weight on his injured ankle, gathered himself and hissed, "Speaking of children, Mrs. Turner, having had _decades_ more experience with such things than you, I believe I'm able to ascertain when and if I need to be leeched."

Elizabeth ground her teeth at his tone. "How dare you speak to me like that!"

"_It's my ship!_ Now _shoo!_" He swept insolent fingers at her. "This discussion is _over_, savvy? Go do whatever it is Pirate Kings do to pass the time in the aftermath of an engagement. Other than nagging me like a _bloody fishwife!_"

o-o-o

For the remainder of the day their intercourse was characterized by icy civility, interspersed with a stony silence that made the entire crew uncomfortable. Elizabeth's anger warred with the realization of her tactical error, and she said nothing about Jack's stubborn refusal to rest, or about his limp, which grew more perceptible with each passing hour.

Finally, long after the tropical night had closed in, when everything else was safe and settled and the _Pearl_ was sweetly tacking east, along the full moon's path, Elizabeth found Jack sitting below, on a step in a dimly lit and otherwise deserted passage, rubbing at his outstretched limb.

On noting her presence, he tucked his foot back and glared at her. Presently, she came and sat quietly beside him.

After a long moment he spoke. "Don't think I can get me boot off."

She bit her lip, and put her arms about him. To her relief, his stiffness eased and he leaned his head against hers. She said, gently, "If we have to cut it, I'll get you a new pair of boots -- best to be had."

She felt him smile. "Promise?"

"Promise." She kissed his cheek. "Let's go find Gibbs."

o-o-o-o-o


	101. Theme: Fly

**o-o-o ****_Rite of Passage_ o-o-o**

"Breeched at four! Jack—"

"He's nearly five, and it'll be safer than havin' 'im in shortcoats on the ship. You told him he could start learnin' his trade next time he came with us."

Elizabeth pursed her lips, but there was a smile in her eyes at the sight of her little son, so proud in his new clothing.

"Please, Mama?" Jamie begged, bouncing a bit.

Irresistible.

She looked at Jack again. "He has you twisted 'round his grubby finger."

Jack grinned. "You should know, eh?" He took Jamie's hand in his. "Come on, lad. We'll go show Captain Teague and the rest."

Jamie said, "Aye! But…" He pulled at Jack's sleeve, and Jack bent to catch Jamie's whisper.

Jack chuckled and straightened. "First things first, then. I'll show you this time, but if you're old enough for breeches, you're old enough to work the buttons on 'em, savvy?"

**o-o-o-o-o**

* * *

Interesting article on 'breeching' on Wikipedia -- pictures and everything!


	102. Theme: Fool

Seven drabbles, written one per day for the 'Fool' drabble challenge at Black Pearl Sails. Thanks goes to Hereswith for beta reading nearly all of them!

* * *

_** Foolish **_

Will had often berated himself for a fool in loving Elizabeth Swann. An orphaned blacksmith's apprentice, aspiring to the hand of the daughter of the Governor of Port Royal? How could such a suit ever prosper? And yet, by some miracle, it had.

Fate had split them apart, leading them down paths stony with mistrust and loneliness. Those separate paths converged again, but only to fulfill a destiny that often seemed more bitter than sweet. Yet how could he regret the choices he'd made?

_Elizabeth._

He was, and always would be, in love with Elizabeth Swann – and foolish with it.

**o-o-o-o-o**

* * *

_** The End of All Things **_

After Elizabeth and the crew of the Empress had been taken to the brig, Norrington stood alone at the rail of the Dutchman for some minutes, trying to make sense of it all.

Governor Swann – his friend – dead.

And Elizabeth alive.

There was no doubt Beckett was behind the governor's death. Norrington had been afraid for Swann, had understood the man's despair and wild determination to hinder Beckett's schemes, and had been utterly thankful when Swann had been released from service and sent back to England.

James had wanted to believe it.

He had ignored the signs that whispered otherwise, just as he'd ignored the remnants of conscience that told him that in regaining his uniform, his rank, his life, he had lost his soul.

How long had Beckett known that Elizabeth was alive?

Something came loose in James. In his hubris, he'd allowed himself to be played for a fool. But that was at an end.

The end of all things.

Later, James felt almost lighthearted as he made his way to the brig.

**o-o-o-o-o**

* * *

_** Ship of Fools **_

"No! You must not go to him!"

"I have to." Unable to think of an argument convincing enough to assuage her fears, Jack merely said it again. "I have to."

Tia Dalma's expression was some painful mix of anger, ridicule, and worry, and Jack knew it wasn't for him alone. She came to him and put her hand against his chest, light as foam on sand. "Dis kind of love is a fool's love, Jack Sparrow, an' Davy Jones hate dat kin' da most. Do you want to know what will come of dis in de end?"

He took her hand in his. "Won't matter. I have to."

Resignation replaced the anger. "So be it," she nodded. Then her eyes shone soft, like moonlight on the sea. "But now, come. One last night I can be a fool -- for my trickster boy, no?"

"Aye," Jack said, and kissed her.

**o-o-o-o-o**

* * *

_** Fool's Chance **_

Elizabeth was disturbed to find that excessive rum did not make her more accepting of the fate that had been handed to them by Barbossa and his rotten crew.

_Rotten!_

She began to giggle.

"What? What's so funny?" Jack demanded, his voice sharp, and no more slurred than it ever was.

She schooled her expression and looked down her nose at him. "Nothing whatever, Mr. Sparrow."

He rolled his eyes, scowling, and muttered, "_Captain!_ It's _Captain!_" as he turned his gaze back to the uncaring sea again.

_Useless!_

Her brain, loosed from its moorings of restraint, began to drift, as in a strong gale, and, in a surprisingly short time, fetched up against a solution to their difficulties. Not only did this have a chance of succeeding, it would completely infuriate her stupidly resigned companion.

_Captain_ Jack Sparrow, indeed! Wait until he observed the Machiavellian wit of _Miss_ Elizabeth Swann.

**o-o-o-o-o**

* * *

_** Bloody Fool **_

Red, rhythmic agony assails Jack with each quick step Barbossa takes, and the man's arms are like iron bands under Jack's knees and shoulders. The slick, wet blood spreads steadily, but the blessed blackness of unconsciousness recedes ever further, and Jack is finally unable to help groaning aloud.

"Jack! Hang on, lad. We'll have ye back to the ship in a trice."

Hector doesn't stop walking, but there's panic in his voice, and steely determination, too. Jack manages to open his eyes briefly and the vision of the pale skin and set jaw is something he knows he'll not soon forget – provided he survives to remember.

Jack manages to rasp, "Hector!"

"What?" Hector does stop, now. "What is it?"

Jack summons the ghost of a smile. "Didn't know you cared, mate."

Hector rolls his eyes and snaps, "Shut up, ye bloody fool!" and lights out again, fast, toward the _Pearl_.

**o-o-o-o-o**

* * *

_** Fooled **_

"Fooled you, Mum!" exclaimed Jamie, high-pitched and giggling as he popped out from the cupboard where he'd apparently been hiding the whole time the Cove had been in an uproar trying to find him.

Jack glanced over at the others. Teague's mouth twisted in a grimace, more amused than angry in his relief. The same could not be said, however, for Elizabeth.

Quick action was called for.

"Here, you vile brat, come with me," Jack said, grabbing Jamie's arm and pulling him with some urgency toward the door.

"But Mum—"

"Your mum's going to have a spot of rum with Captain Teague." Teague gave a nod, eyes laughing. Elizabeth said nothing – didn't have to, with that look on her face. Jack said, pointedly, "Four's old enough for some sharp talk, but a bit young for the cat o' nine tails. Best make ourselves scarce for this little parlay, savvy?"

**o-o-o-o-o**

* * *

_** Dear Fool **_

Young Jamie stood before his mother, cheeks streaked and flushed, tousled head bowed humbly. "I'm s-sorry, Mum. I won't do it again. I _promise!_" His lower lip trembled, and he peered up between his lashes, pleadingly.

Elizabeth, predictably, melted. "Oh, come here, you naughty thing," she said, her own voice breaking, and gathered her son against her.

Jack smiled crookedly and slipped from the room.

Teague followed Jack out, and fell into step beside him. "He's a rascal!"

"Aye," Jack agreed. "He'll think twice next time, though, I reckon."

"Hmm. Likely so. He's bright enough. Quick study, too. Tears were a nice touch. Raw onion?"

Jack halted and turned, warily. "You're not bloody going to _tell_ her?"

Teague lifted his brows. "Jackie! You wound me!"

"Well… all right, then."

"Doubt if I'll have to." Teague grinned at Jack's expression, then took his arm. "Come along, son. Let's get a drink."

**o-o-o-o-o**

* * *

_** Fool of a Captain **_

"Jack Sparrow is dead!" Jones asserted, with relish.

"Is he?" Beckett raised an eyebrow. "You know, he's damnably hard to kill. Do you have some evidence? His head, perhaps? Or some other bit I'd recognize?"

Jones seethed, though that would avail him nothing, thanks to Norrington. "The _Black Pearl_'s gone to the depths, and its fool of a captain with it!"

"Hmmm. And yet… the ship's been raised before. By _you_."

"For a price! We had a bargain. But no one escapes the Locker!"

Beckett laughed. "No one? And a _bargain_?" He shook his head. "Fool of a captain, indeed."

**o-o-o-o-o**


	103. Theme: Bed

_** Promotion  
**_

They'd toasted anything and everything on this night of nights, and finally Bill lifted his glass a last time. "To the new captain's _bed!_ May it give him blessed slumber for many years to come!"

Jack laughed, shouted, "_Hear, hear!_" along with the rest, and tossed off his rum.

But later, tucked into that bed, in the enormous cabin that was now his own, far from the snores, smells, and warmth of other men, he lay wide awake, staring at the moonlight streaming through a chink in the drapes over the gallery windows, and wondered if he'd ever sleep again.

**o-o-o**

.


	104. Theme: Bed 2

It's sequelish to a couple of short post-CotBP things I wrote in 2005, 'A Fine Day', and 'A Word in Private'

And here's the new one…

* * *

_**o-o-o And So To Bed **__**o-o-o**___

"You get some sleep," Ana'd told Jack, and took herself and his half-eaten dinner off to the galley. Considerably later, she went back out on deck, and Cotton, at the wheel, gave a significant nod toward the bow.

_Bloody Hell!_

Jack was lounging in a big coil of rope, nursing a bottle and staring out at the moonlit sea.

She stalked across the deck, gave the coil of rope a kick, and snapped, "What the devil? You'll be good for nothin' tomorrow, Jack!"

He glanced sideways at her, a bit bleary-eyed. "Couldn't sleep, love."

"Yer dead on yer feet!"

"Ain't _on_ me feet."

"You've a perfectly good bed in there!"

He put the bottle to his lips, drank deep, then wiped his mouth. "Was thinkin' about that, actually."

She frowned. "Thinkin' about yer bed?"

"Aye." He hesitated, but then gave a shrug. "'Bout the last time I slept in it."

_The last time…_ Ana's frown turned to a scowl. She said, slowly, "They came for you there."

Jack said nothing, just took another swig of rum.

She sat on the edge of the rope coil. Near, but not touching. Presently, he offered her the bottle. She accepted it. It was good rum, the burn of it easing to a warm glow as it traveled down her gullet. She handed the bottle back. "What about a lullaby?"

He nearly choked on the liquor. "A—"

"Lullaby." She smiled. "I put my sister's boy to bed, sometimes, when I visit. _He_ seems to like it."

Jack began to chuckle, with real amusement, his shadows fading. He said, at last, "You'd do that for me?"

Ana swiped the bottle out of his hand again. "This once. Aye."

She set the bottle down on the deck, got up, and was pleased to see him lift his hand, silently asking for assistance. She took it – warm, but for those rings, and fine-boned but toughened and strong, and too clever, as she well knew – and pulled him to his feet. She told him, as he swayed there before her, "Don't get any ideas, now."

He widened those eyes, and gave her that pretty pout. But then he changed tactics. "A story, too?"

"A story! Well, maybe. If you're good."

"Good?" He picked up his bottle, and raised it to her in a tipsy salute. "I'm always good, love. Even better than good. Don't you remember?"

"That's what I meant," Ana said, dryly, and took him back to his cabin.

_**o-o-o**_


	105. Theme: Back

_** Breakable **_

He was real young for a captain. Not a captain now, of course, not with his pretty ship lying black and broken at the bottom of the sea. Himself lying, too, quiet and shivering those first days, then just quiet, though she saw how his hands gripped hard at the blanket when she'd dress his back, gentle as she was. Wasn't the worst she'd seen, but near enough.

She wondered if it would break him, that and the brand on his wrist that burned and burned. Burned more than just his wrist, for certain. She'd seen men break. Seen too much of that.

But when he was healed more, and on his feet some, she found him at the window one day, looking out, past the river.

"What you see out there, Jack Sparrow?" she asked.

He almost gave her that smile. "The horizon, love," he said.

Then she knew.

_**o-o-o**_

.


	106. Theme: Education

_** Educating Elizabeth **_

A governess, several tutors, and instructors in music and dance had, at various times, been engaged by Weatherby Swann to see to his daughter's education, but there were so many others in her life who had imparted information of far greater substance and interest. The skills of leadership she had gleaned at her father's knee. James (unbeknownst to her father) had shown her how to use a musket. Will had patiently and lovingly taught her to handle a sword. Barbossa had given her the rudiments of navigation.

And then, there was Jack Sparrow.

"Jack," she said, faintly, "where on earth did you learn that?"

"Mmmm. Y'don't really want to know, love," he murmured, half asleep already.

Perhaps not.

But she would remember.

_**o-o-o**_


	107. Theme: Fortune

_** O Fortuna **_

"Stay a moment, lad. Here's a parting gift for ye."

Jack, who had barely resigned himself to the plank -- though it did seem to offer more hope than the thicket of swords behind him -- reluctantly turned to face his tormentor once more. "And what's that?"

"Pistol." Barbossa waved it about with a smirk. "And a single shot. Yer a good man, Jack, and that's a hard death. Least I can do is ease yer suffering – provided the sharks don't get ye on the way in."

Barbossa's expression was scornful enough, but there was something at the back of his eyes that looked too much like pity. Jack's fear, intensified by the sight of the proffered weapon, drowned in a wave of fury. "_Fortes Fortuna adiuvat_," he snapped. _Fortune aids the brave_.

But Barbossa chuckled. "Nay, lad. _Fortuna caeca est!_ Really thought ye'd learned that before, at Beckett's hands."

_**o-o-o**_

.


	108. Theme: Glabrous

_** Grooming **_

"What the devil's got into Tobias, treatin' him like his bloody lapdog," Barbossa growled. He finished off his tankard and slammed it down on the table. "Jen's First, I'm Second, and Sparrow's nothin' but a glabrous, puling _babe!_"

"Careful," Twigg told him, in warning, a motion of his head indicating trouble.

Barbossa turned to look, and there stood Sparrow, not ten feet away, with Bootstrap and a couple of others. Bootstrap was glaring, but Sparrow, curse him, only looked amused, though there could have been a flash deep in those lady's eyes of his.

Sparrow spoke mighty cool, though. "Believe I'd rather be glabrous than _scraggly_, Hector. But puling?" He chuckled, and that gold tooth Tobias had got him glinted in the lamplight.

Hector ground his teeth, and watched with narrowed eyes as Sparrow and his mates left the tavern.

But then, a few nights later, they're all having dinner in the Great Cabin and Tobias says to his protégé, "Beard's startin' to fill in real nice, Jack. Glad you changed your mind and took my advice."

"Oh, aye," Sparrow mutters, offhand. But Hector notes he keeps his eyes on his plate for a time, and there's a flush beneath the tan of his cheeks.

_**o-o-o**_

.


	109. Theme: Soul

_** Chuffed **_

_One hundred souls. Three days._

Jones' words bounced through Jack's skull as the _Pearl_ skipped along.

Cruelly inflated, of course. Ridiculously grandiose. _A hundred souls_. To compensate for the loss of his _one?_ Utterly absurd.

And yet… there was this niggling sense of gratification.

_One hundred souls_.

Well, he _was_ Captain Jack Sparrow.

Of course, there was that sticky business with Bill's lad. All rather complicated, these dealings with Turner. Turners. Though he'd meant well. Mostly.

But with a bit of luck, Will would manage. Family reunion. Key. Escape. All in a day's work.

He'd wager his soul on it.

_**o-o-o**_

.


	110. Theme: Fire 2

For Medicinal Purposes

_** For Medicinal Purposes **_

"This'll hurt like fire," Jack warned Jamie.

Jamie nodded, setting his teeth and his querulous insides.

At mother's insistence, they'd dosed him with laudanum before they'd cleaned and stitched the long gash on his arm two days back, and though it'd cut the pain right enough, it'd given him a headache and the horridest dreams, too. "No worries," Jack had told him later. "Next time we'll give you rum, whatever she says."

Now, with the wound showing signs of going septic, they were giving him rum, all right.

Hard hands latched onto him, and he jerked against them as Mr. Gibbs did his worst, but Jamie didn't cry, or even make much sound at all, though his eyes watered and he felt gaspy and trembling after.

Then Jack was there, praising him extravagantly. "Good man! You're a right one, James Turner."

Jamie flushed with pleasure, but put on a fierce glare. "Thought you meant I could _drink_ the rum next time!" And then he had to grin as Jack and Mr. Gibbs roared with laughter.

.


	111. Theme: Post AWE Scenarios

_**o-o Post-AWE Scenarios o-o**_

Jack and Will came to an accord easily enough. "She needs you, Jack," Will said, bluntly. "Calypso says she's with child." The Ferryman's mouth twisted in a smile at once rueful and pride-filled. "I can't be there for them, but you can!"

"What makes you think I—"

"Don't you?"

Jack felt himself flushing beneath that knowing gaze, like some boy. He grabbed the rum and drank, but Will's eyes... Jack scowled. "What about you?"

"One day every ten years, as long as she lives. It's my fate, and hers."

"And mine, apparently."

Will nodded. "Yes. And Fiddler's Green after."

**o-o-o**

Jack got the _Pearl_ back first, and with remarkable ease. He had the map, after all, and more skill at navigating than Hector'd ever dreamed of. They found the Fountain of Youth, all right. Hector drank first and ended up a scrawny cabin boy.

"Should've been you! _You!_" little Hector ranted, high-pitched. "Ye'd've been gone for good! And good riddance, too, damn yer eyes!"

"You'd best shut it, lad," said Jack, trying not to laugh, "or you'll be kissin' the gunner's daughter before I lock ye in the brig, savvy?"

They parted in Tortuga, and he never saw Hector again.

**o-o-o**

Elizabeth was 'large with child' and lovelier than ever, but distant. Their last parting had apparently caused a slight rift -- as he'd intended, unfortunately.

He didn't tell her about Will. Not at first.

He felt her eyes, all evening, but when he turned at last from his old mates and the wenches that vied for attention, she was gone.

He followed, caught her. Another unfortunate exchange, icy words, lies, and he lost it. "_She needs you!_"he spat._ "_I should've told Will to shove 'is _needs you_ right up 'is arse!"

Except, of course, it turned out she did.

**o-o-o-o-o**

.


	112. Themes: Silver, Land, Sea

_**o-o That One Day o-o  
**_

She barely needed the oars, it turned out, through some magic of Calypso's, or even his own. She didn't ask him. She had wondered, back on the _Pearl_, what he would be like now, and had both dreaded the answer, and longed for it with all her heart.

Her answer waded barefoot to meet her boat, handing her out with such joy writ on his face that she could not be afraid, even when he enfolded her and she sensed the ways he was different, and the ways in which he was blessedly the same.

"Elizabeth!" he murmured, and tears sprang to her eyes at the sound of his beloved voice. Longing, and a sudden fury took her, an inner railing at fate, a rejection of the death and destruction of the morning. She clung to him, her friend, her lover, and her lips were upon his, warm on warm, the feel and taste of him igniting a flame within her.

He'd laid a blanket for her and drew her there, a marriage bed of white wool, soft sand, and sunshine, tucked into the arms of a rocky outcrop. No prying eyes saw what they alone would remember, and remember, and remember. No other ears heard the sighs, sweet words, and sharp cries of their rising tide. All were drowned in the murmur of waves, carried off by the fresh sea breeze, and their lives were caught fast, between land and sea, between silver and gold, on that One Day.

**o-o-o**


	113. Theme: Missing Scene

_**o-o Fine Men o-o**_

The clash of swords rang in the still, humid air, startling... frightening... then an irresistible lure. Estrella peeked into the clearing from the shadows of the trees and her eyes widened. Lieutenant Groves and that lovely Will Turner at swordplay!

They were both in shirtsleeves, gleaming, gay, and intent on the task at hand, but it was soon evident that Will was every bit the master here, and him only a blacksmith! Lieutenant Groves didn't seem to mind, though. On the contrary, he was laughing when he yielded at last to a clever gambit, and shook Will's hand with hearty affection. Ah, what a handsome pair, fine men both!

Estrella slipped away, before they should become aware of her, and hurried home with a smirk on her face. Oh, Miss Elizabeth would be green and no mistake! That'd teach her to lie abed so late on market day!

o-o-o-o-o


	114. Theme: East

_**o-o Sailing East o-o**_

From infancy, Elizabeth had longed to sail away and see the wonders of the east, extolled to her by returning friends and relatives. What an irony that the opportunity had come to her at last, in such a way.

She had never been an early riser, but she took the morning watch, all through the months of their long voyage to Singapore. There was some sort of perverse satisfaction in getting up in the dark, tired and cold, and setting to work in that harsh sea-bound world. But then, when dawn approached and the stars began to fade, there was always a moment of hope, clear and sharp as black ink, a small bird flitting above the waves in the face of the rising sun.

o-o-o-o-o


	115. Theme: Gratitude

_**o-o Utterly Deceptive Twaddlespeak o-o**_

Smoking pistol in one hand and chain-shot gripped in the other, the round ends hanging obscenely between his spread legs, Barbossa was an impressive figure atop that table. The report had been deafening in the crowded room, effectively affecting a halt in the current instance of Pirate Politics. Hector was quite the showman. But what the devil was he blathering on about now?

"It was the first court what imprisoned Calypso, and we will be the ones to set her free, and in her gratitude she will see fit to grant us _boons!_"

Calypso? No bloody guarantees there. Jack had other plans, in any case.

"Whose _boons_? Your boons?" Jack demanded, with a purposely incredulous leer.

He'd show old Hector what real _boons_ was like.

o-o-o-o-o


	116. Theme: Patch

_**o-o A La Mode o-o**_

"So what did he give you?"

Elizabeth started and turned to find Jack emerging from a shadow. He looked down his nose at her and Elizabeth lifted her chin. "Were you watching us?" she demanded.

"Maybe." He nodded at Capitaine Chevalle's gift. "Not so _Penniless_ after all, eh? Bloody encroaching fop."

"You're jealous!"

"Am not! But I must say, it's the outside of enough, you accepting gifts of the old lecher. Jewelry?"

"Patches." Elizabeth displayed the ornate little box on the palm of her hand, eyes laughing.

"Patches!" Jack made a face as he picked it up. "Outdated, _and_ an insult. You ain't pox-marked."

"No, thank God. I'm afraid I may have said something that made him think I admired that star-shaped one he wore at Christmas."

"Silly arse."

"I _beg_ your pardon?"

"Him, not you." Jack opened the box. "Though this one's singularly appropriate." He delicately selected a small black heart and, eyes glinting, considered her pout. "Placed so—" He set the patch, just beside her lips. "—it's called _The Kissing_." And he did.

The pout vanished, and one brow rose. "How did you acquire that piece of information?"

"_Captain Jack Sparrow_, love. How should I not?"

o-o-o-o-o


	117. Theme: Liberty

_**o-o There Was A Time o-o**_

_There's some food for thought, eh, Miss Swann?_

Unable to avoid the two on deck, James distanced himself by going below, and as he left the sun behind he found that he was angrier with Elizabeth than with Sparrow. The pirate was no better than he should be, after all, but that she would allow the blackguard to take such liberties, and then smile in their wake. But home truths were wasted on her, determined as she was to trust the man. What an absurdity. No discrimination at all. And why he expected more, when she had tossed his own heart aside like so much...

He stopped, alone in the dim. Swallowed hard.

Apparently he was not as well rid of her as he had liked to believe. And speaking of home truths...

_There was a time when I would've given anything for you to look like that while thinking about me._

_There was a time..._

James leaned back against a shadowed bulkhead and sank down.

Revealed. Exposed. Indecent as she was herself, in those boy's clothes.

_Damnation._

He needed his life back.

He needed to forget her.

And he needed a drink.

o-o-o-o-o


	118. Theme: Wait

This is a sequel to my Elizabeth/Norrington fic, True Heart.

* * *

_**o-o Not a Dream o-o**_

Late morning sun woke him, and he wondered if it had all been a dream. Elizabeth… breaking into the house… confronting him… seducing him… the brandy… the Turkey carpet… her skin, her slender form by firelight, beneath his hands…

He lifted one of said hands. Bare. His signet ring slipped onto hers just before dawn, after he'd walked her back to her father's house.

And her scent still lingered upon his fingers.

A dream indeed.

How long had he been wandering in darkness?

But Elizabeth—_his_ Elizabeth, so cherished, so long awaited—had shown him in no uncertain terms that regret was futile, and wrong, and timidity entirely counterproductive. In short, that he'd been a damned fool.

Ah, how he liked that in a woman!

o-o-o-o-o


	119. Theme: Capture oo Teague

_**o-o Contradiction o-o**_

"You don't _really_ hate Teague!"

"Oh, no. Sometimes I just dislike him with great intensity." Elizabeth shook her head, and Jack protested, "He's not like your father -- never was!"

"I'll wager his protective wing shielded you from disaster far more often than you care to admit."

"Followed in short order by the back of his hand -- or worse."

Elizabeth winced. She looked over to where Teague sat enthroned in a corner of the tavern, weaving enchantment with his guitar. "It doesn't make sense."

"His music?" Jack shrugged. "A lure to the unwary."

She turned back, fixing him with her gaze. "You know from experience."

She saw the flash of denial cross his face, but it faded in the light of rueful memory. "Aye."

o-o-o-o-o


	120. Theme: Cold oo Gibbs

_**o-o Frozen Moment o-o**_

"He elected to stay behind, to give us a chance."

Gibbs stared at Elizabeth, dumbstruck, in spite of the fact that this wasn't unexpected. Jack's luck had run out, and he was scared, who wouldn't be? But when it came down to brass tacks, he'd do what he had to.

But... _Jack!_ His captain! His friend...

"Go!"

Josh's moment was lost. Elizabeth's voice was hoarse, grim... ah, the poor lass, much as she loved her Will, she had a terrible soft spot for Jack, her pirate stories made real, though maybe not how she'd once dreamed them.

They shoved off, wordless, away from the beautiful _Black Pearl_, away from Captain Jack Sparrow, and they began to row.

In spite of the bright, warm Caribbean day, Joshamee Gibbs had never felt so cold.

o-o-o-o-o


	121. Theme: Silence

_** Dead Silence **_

_The unkindest cut of all._

No gurgle or rush of water, no slap or boom of wave. No homely creaking of the ebon hull, no shiver or flap of sail. No siren song of wind in the lines and shrouds.

No song of wind.

No wind.

_My soul I do swear…_

Who would have guessed that the click of a crab's claw could have the resonance of a thunder clap, or that the grinding of his _Black Pearl_'s inexplicably but indisputably intact corpus moving slowly past on a crustaceous swell was the sound of resurrection?

o-o-o


	122. Theme: Easy

_** Malice Aforethought **_

_You had it easy, boy!_

The words echoed, mocking, in Will's ears as he fell, then staggered up, half mad with pain and betrayal. The world was dull gray, sea, sky, the unceasing rain, his father, the whole damned ship. The fate that Jack Sparrow had handed him.

Yet later, when his hurts had eased under his father's ministrations, Will was able to see his way again, see sense, and hope, and a path through to the light. It wasn't fate, and a man made his own destiny.

Jack certainly had. Will's eyes narrowed in anticipation of their next meeting.

o-o-o

.


	123. Theme: Death

A triple drabble, 300 words, in my old post-CotBP J/E universe.

o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o

_** A Lexicological Inquiry **_

"Jack, what's meant by the expression _Little Death_?"

Jack's brows rose precipitously. He set their tankards down and slid onto the settle beside Elizabeth. "Why d'you ask, love?"

"That woman leaving, and the two men following her."

Elizabeth nodded toward the door of the tavern where a couple of coves were dogging Scarlett's swaying egress into the sultry Tortuga night. Jack smirked, feeling a sympathy for the poor buggers.

Elizabeth continued. "The men were sitting there just now, at the next table, watching her, and the one remarked, _That un'll be the death of 'e_, and the other replied, _I could use a Little Death of 'er, think on!_"

Jack turned to Elizabeth with a grin. "Interesting elocution, there, Miss Governor's Daughter. Didn't know you was so apt at apin' the lower orders. A talent that could come in useful."

"Thank you, Captain Sparrow," she said, cheeks pinking up, pleased as punch. "Father would be appalled, but as you say, it's a skill that could be of use to us. I've been trying to pay attention. But what did that man mean by _Little Death_? Something dreadful? "

"Dreadful! No! _La petite mort_, as the Frenchies say." Elizabeth, prettiest pirate lad ever breeched, cocked her head, all questioning innocence. Jack cleared his throat and shifted on the unyielding wood. "It's when a man... and a maid... er... a woman... It's a bit difficult to explain. In words. I think p'rhaps more of a hands-on demonstration." He glanced around, and toward the stairs leading to the rooms above, and winced. "Not here, though. We'll go back to the _Pearl_."

"Go back? But we've just arrived!"

"Aye. But lexicological investigation's a bit like time 'n' tide, savvy? So drink up, there's a love. Night's gettin' older by the minute."

o-o-o


	124. Theme: Echo

Post-CotBP Jack and Anamaria, sequelish to drabble 104, _And So To Bed_...

o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o

_** Echoes in the Dark  
**_  
The watch bell woke Jack. He stared blind, wide-eyed, listening frozen to the sounds of wind and water caressing his _Pearl_. No ominous rumble of rolling shot. He'd dreamed that. His hand clutched the bedclothes, real sheets, worn but clean smelling, and his nose caught other scents: wood, tar, ink and rum and the leather bindings of his old books. And the cold sweat of his own fear.

He swore softly and turned onto his back -- and Ana roused beside him.

"What is it? What time is it? Blast it, I fell asleep!"

He caught at her arm as she made to sit up, but she slapped his hand, so he said, "Stay?"

"No!"

"Please?"

She jerked her arm away and hissed, "You can't cajole me with those pretty eyes in the pitch black, and I ain't about to be taken in a second time."

"Told you I'd get you another boat, and I will. And you liked it that first time. I distinctly remember."

"Bloody hell," she muttered, getting off the bed. "That ain't the point, and you know it! Good night, Captain!"

Jack listened as she bumped and cursed her way to the cabin door and wrenched it open. Her pert form was briefly silhouetted by moonlight before she closed it behind her.

_Pretty eyes_, eh?

He lay down, smiling. It would take discipline and focus, but there were bits of the past that were worth revisiting. And plans to make for all those new horizons, too.

o-o-o-o


	125. Theme: Wind

_** Winds of Fate **_

The boy stood at the rail, flanked by Swanns. The three were looking out across the water at their destination, still a green haze on the horizon at this distance. While the new governor expounded upon the delights of the place, Miss Elizabeth was seen to slip a comforting hand about that of her "charge".

"It's an ill wind as blows nobody good," Mr. Gibbs remarked, sounding slightly less morose than usual. Then, remembering himself, he flicked a wary glance at Norrington.

But the lieutenant only nodded, and said, "Indeed. Fortune seems to have smiled upon young Turner after all."

o-o-o

.


	126. Theme: Threat

_** Terrifying **_

"…I meant you being threatened by that pirate. Sounds terrifying!"

Norrington's ill-timed proposal instantly flies from Elizabeth's head and she's back on the dock, the thick chain around her neck pulling her hard against Jack Sparrow's wiry frame, his breath and oddly musical voice hot in her ear: "Elizabeth – it is Elizabeth, isn't it?"

"It's _Miss Swann_."

Her whole being had trembled, yes, but with fury, foremost, and an oddly detached fascination beneath it. The insolence! The audacity!

The _stupidity!_ She knew her father would have seen reason…

And then, with a rough jerk, she was facing him, his pistol at her temple, his eyes warm, with a flash of summer lightning.

To be drawn to such a man, and in such circumstances…

"Oh, yes," she says to Estrella, mechanically. "Terrifying."

o-o-o


	127. Theme: Cake

_** Just Dessert **_

"Come on, lad," said Teague. "I'll take you up to bed."

Jamie roused from where he'd been nodding off, reluctant to leave the celebration but unable to stay awake any longer. His own bed—that was a comfortable thought after all these weeks at sea, and particularly after the last two days, days that had changed their lives so much. He slid from his chair and followed Teague, the two of them slipping away without ceremony. But then, at the landing halfway up the stairs, Jamie paused to look down at the happy, vociferous group below.

Jamie had met his father several memorable times over the last nine years, of course, and he had heard a great deal about him from others. Awe of the immortal had always been accompanied by pride in the man. But to see his father here, alive and whole and released from Calypso's service, and, along with mother and Uncle Jack, telling the tale of it all to the people of Shipwreck Cove, was more overwhelming, more joyful a thing than he could well fathom, even if he hadn't been ready to drop.

Then a kindly hand was laid upon his shoulder. "It's like havin' your cake and eatin' it too, ain't it lad?"

Jamie grinned, and looked up at Captain Teague's lined, unwontedly lighthearted face. "That's it! That's it, exactly!"

o-o-o

.


	128. Theme: Rope

_**~ Rope's End ~**_

Choking, wide-eyed, scrabbling for purchase, for balance, for breath, he's only half aware of the surrounding tumult, the seconds stretching slow and harsh as the rough hemp tearing at his neck.

Then a _thunk!_ and he's falling, standing, on solid ground. The sword's stuck fast, thanks to Will's trick, but Jack frees his wrists, frees the only other weapon to hand, and runs.

_Should be some needle-witted saying about nooses turning to lifelines_, he muses, but his friend's there, catching the tossed end, and as they begin to bowl over lobsterbacks only one maxim occurs: Time is of the essence.

~.~


	129. Theme: Middle

_**~ The Middle Child ~**_

It was Jack that finally found her, in the ornate great cabin of that old galley she'd so admired, deep in the Cove.

"Quite a nest you've made here, love," he remarked evenly, peering into the darkness of her little cave, piles of dusty velvet and brocade draped over a carved table.

The great eyes glittered with tears.

He sat down outside, cross-legged, and held out his hands. "Come here."

She obeyed, emerging with a sob, and curled in his lap, clinging. He let her weep, murmuring nonsense against her dark, tangled hair. Eventually the storm slackened, and he pulled out his fine new handkerchief and helped her 'swab the decks'.

"What were you thinking?" he scolded gently. "Your mother needs you!"

Her lip quivered. "Joe Harvey says she won't have time for me now."

"Joe Harvey's a bloody little liar and should be well thrashed – and you, too, for believing him." He gave her a pinch on the backside that made her squirm, and narrowed his eyes. "Don't you know she'd be here herself, if she could? "

"Is she all right?"

"She's fine, or will be, once she knows you're safe. She was askin' for you, and was a miteupset when we couldn't find you. Had half the Cove in an uproar lookin' for you."

"Oh!" She flushed. "Can we go back?"

*****

Ignoring her older brother's annoyed exclamation, and Captain Teague's relieved one, Isabelle let go of her father's hand and ran to where her mother lay with arm outstretched, pale but smiling, in the big bed.

"My darling!" were the delightful words Isabelle heard, and she choked, "I'm sorry, Mama," in reply.

"You should be!" Jamie exclaimed. "We've been—"

"Jamie!" Captain Turner said sharply from where he sat beside Mama, on the opposite side of the bed.

"Oh, all right," Jamie subsided. "But Father—"

"All's well as ends well, lad," Papa cut in. "Belay the backtalk and enjoy the moment, eh?"

Mother loosened her hug. "Do you want to see your new sister and brother?"

Isabelle sat up, stunned. "Both? Two?"

"Twins, come see!" said Suzanna, the midwife, who was standing by the cradle in the corner of the room.

Mama nodded, and Isabelle slid off the bed and approached. Two little blanket-wrapped bundles lay side by side, their pink, contented faces so much alike!

"This is your sister – she was born first." Suzanna's hand curved close to one sleeping head.

Isabelle knelt carefully by her sister's side of the cradle. "We're both in the middle, then!"

**o-o-o**


	130. Theme: Tortuga

_**~ An Execrable Business ~**_

A sly hand slid into the pocket but, instead of the usual reward of purse and coin, the victim swirled 'round and changed to victor, strong fingers gripping the errant wrist.

"What's this?" Triumphant eyes narrowed, and the gravelly, rum-slurred voice said, accusingly, "You're a _girl!_"

"Am not!"

"Are."

"_Not!_ Let me _go!_"

"Not likely."

The other wrist was caught and the thief jerked roughly into the shadows and slammed against a wall. The eyes raked, and a curl of lip was seen, with a glint of gold. "Overmuch whimpering and squirming for _not-a-girl_."

The squirming ceased, with some effort. "I do not whimper!"

"Oh, no. Nor blub, neither, I daresay."

There was an awkward pause; a lower lip was bitten, and a trembling chin firmed. "Wh-what are you going to do?"

The painful hold eased slightly. "Rather depends on your candor, or lack thereof, don't it? For example, if you was to tell me how a gently bred lass ends up picking pockets in a Tortuga alley – most execrable in circumstance, intent, _and_ execution – I might be persuaded not to hand you over to the authorities."

"Gently bred? I—"

"The low accent needs work, darlin'."

"Oh."

"_Oh_. "

**TBC…**


	131. Theme: Happiness

_**~ An Execrable Business, continued...**_

She was sufficiently grubby for a street urchin, but the pretty, kittenish face was dead pale under the soot, save for a spot of chagrinned color, and the wide eyes held a look Jack recognized. "S'pose you're hungry."

A beat of surprise. Then, "Yes."

"_Don't_ try to run." He let her go, and watched as she straightened and, eyes downcast, rubbed her sore wrists. She bit her lip again. He said quickly, "We'll go to Whitby House for some victuals and chat. Come along."

She trudged beside him obediently enough, slogging along in silence through the raucous, muddy streets, his hand on her shoulder or tug at her coat sleeve all that was needed to direct her and remind her who was in charge. It wasn't long before they left the waterfront behind and entered the better part of the town, where the streets were less muddy and the inn lay, trim and welcoming.

At the sight of it, she halted in her tracks. "I can't go in like this."

Jack saw her point. Whitby House was the newest and best hostelry in Tortuga, built by Robert Whitby for his bride Martha, using his prize money from the lucky sack of a Spanish treasure ship. Robert was a less than exemplary husband in some respects, being a sailor and a pirate, and ill-tempered besides. But the construction of Whitby House had done much to reconcile young Martha, scion of innkeepers, to her lot, and she was exceedingly happy and proficient in its management. Jack had to admit that the present condition of his companion was a painful contrast to the inn's neat, white-washed façade, green painted door, and shining tile roof. "Come round the back. We'll clean you up a bit. I happen to know the proprietress. She won't mind."

**TBC…**


	132. Theme: Festive

_**~ An Execrable Business, continued…**_

Jack was right about Martha Whitby. In fact, having gone out to the small back garden for a bit of air, Martha was most happy to see the visitors come through the gate, well lit by moonlight.

"Captain Jack Sparrow, as I live and breathe!" she exclaimed, and smiled to see the smug grin of satisfaction. Jack had taken command of the _Black Pearl_ two years back, when John Tobias had passed, God rest his soul, and was very young to be the captain of a pirate ship, with such a sweet face under his flash accoutrements that folk were apt to forget his well-deserved title. Well-deserved it was, though. Even Robert said Jack was a pirate's pirate, canny, courageous, and full of the devil. And a lady's man, too!

"Martha, my love!" he said in that voice that told you he truly meant it, at least at that moment. "Do I detect a certain glow about you?"

Martha chuckled. "Aye, and a certain thickening of the waist, too, you rogue, though I didn't think it was quite that noticeable just yet."

"Only to one who's _very_ familiar with your assets."

Martha pursed her lips. "For shame, Jack! What a thing to say, and me in a delicate condition. I've never played Robert false, not even with you."

"A thousand pardons," he said and, putting his hands together, he bowed contritely. "Robert is the most fortunate of men."

"Get on with you! Not that it isn't true, think on. But who's this lad? A squeaker off the _Pearl_?" She eyed Jack's young companion with sudden interest. A very pretty lad – pretty as Jack, which was saying something. If she hadn't known Jack was a lady's man…

"No. Acquaintance of mine is all, in need of a wash before partaking of one of your fabulous meals, if you'd be so kind."

"Of course! Lord, it'll be grand as a holiday, having you to supper again. When I think of some of those evenings, when Tobias was still alive!"

A shadow touched Jack's mobile countenance, but he smiled, too. "Nothing to beat 'em," he agreed.

"Ah. You miss him that much," Martha said, deeply sympathetic. "Well, well. We were privileged to know him and that's the truth. But come! You just wait here and I'll go fetch a cloth and towel for this youngster." And Martha took herself off to the pantry.

**TBC…**


	133. Theme: Last Minute

_**~ An Execrable Business, continued…**_

Jack turned to his 'acquaintance'. "What's your name?"

"Nell. I mean, Helen. Smith."

"Smith, eh?" Jack sniffed. "I'm a Smith, too, from time to time. When it's expedient."

Nell flushed, but said, "Are you really a ship's captain?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow of the _Black Pearl_, though not particularly at your service." He made an ironical little bow.

"But you are!" she said, unsteadily. "I mean… anyone else would have beaten me, or had me arrested. I am greatly in your debt."

"I may still beat you, you never know," Jack said, somewhat testily. "What the devil's brought you to such a pass, Smith? It had better be Smith for now, by the way – Martha might take it into her head that my intentions are less than pure were she to know you're a female."

"Yes, very well. But… it's a long story. May I tell you over dinner?"

Jack's lips twitched at the hopeful, almost wheedling tone. "All right. Miscreant brat."

To his surprise she smiled up at him for the first time. "My grandmother used to call me that."

He gave a bark of laughter at this fond recollection. "Did she?" He looked her over again. "How old are you, Smith? I want the truth now."

"Almost eighteen," she stated, standing very straight.

She barely reached his chin. "'Almost'? What does that mean, precisely?"

"Well… next September."

"Five months! That ain't 'almost'."

"It's… I… there are certain people who feel it's old enough to _marry!_" she said, rather bitterly.

This was food for thought, a veritable banquet, but Jack was prevented from commenting by the reappearance of their hostess.

"Here you are, and you had best hurry!" Martha said, carefully descending the steps. "I didn't realize it had got so late! Sally's setting a table for you and I've saved out the last of the stew and bread, and there's a fruit pie for after, if you're so inclined. Make haste, now, and I'll see you inside."

Jack took the cloth and towel and, as Martha bustled away, handed them to Nell. He watched in silence as she awkwardly wet the cloth at the pump and wiped her face and hands.

Finished, she turned to him. "Is it all right?"

"Good God," he muttered. Far, far too pretty.

"What?" she asked, dismayed.

"Nothing. You've missed a spot or two, is all." And he took the wet cloth from her.

**TBC…**


	134. Theme: Batter

_**~ The Best That Ever Sailed ~**_

Battered by Fate, marked by a thousand encounters with foe and friend alike. Worn by years of toil and painful longing. Yet still beautiful, still possessed of a gaiety, a courage that caught the wind with heady bravado and turned toward the sun with hope that would not be dashed.

"The best that ever sailed, Miss Elizabeth." Gibbs paused for a moment at the top of the rise to look down on the _Pearl_, embraced by sapphire waters and lush banks in this unnamed inlet.

And Elizabeth, seeing her captain taking his ease on the distant quarterdeck, had to agree.

~.~


	135. Theme: Letter

Set in that post-CotBP A/U, a short time after _The Christmas Guest_.

* * *

_**~ Proposal ~**_

"A Letter of Marque!" exclaimed Gibbs. "And it was Norrington's idea?"

"It was," Jack affirmed with far more aplomb than the uncomfortable memory of that first interview justified. Caught in Swann's spare dressing gown and those ridiculous knit slippers, and still half dead of influenza – there was no other excuse for the lack of caution that had brought him barging in, even as Lizzie was lying through her teeth to get rid of the man. Thank Heaven Norrington had seen reason, and what an asset the _Pearl_ could be in Britain's little disagreements with her neighbors.

"Does that mean we'll be able to visit the Turners?" Anamaria asked, somewhat warily.

"Visit? Why, we'll be able to tie up right at the bloody dock! What say you to that?"

"Aye!" came the shout, not only from Anamaria, but from all the rest, too.

Jack laughed. "It seems we have an accord!"

~.~


	136. Theme: Impulse

_**~ Flying ~**_

In hope and terror, she hitched her skirts and ran, dodging redcoats, she had to see. She caught a glimpse of Will and Jack as they raced up the steps. If they could gain the parapet…

She struggled through to her father's side and her heart froze. They were surrounded by a forest of weapons, and her father's outrage. And Norrington's.

"You forget your place, Turner."

"_It's right here. Between you and Jack._"

She stared at Will for a moment, at what he had become. For her.

A precipice yawned before her: death or the chance of life.

She flew.

~.~


	137. Theme: Quarter

_**~ No Dress ~**_

"Oh, and by the by, Miss Swann: you'll quarter with me in the great cabin."

Elizabeth, who'd turned to go below in order to find poor Norrington and make sure that he wasn't being abused, whirled to stare at Jack. "_What?_"

"You heard me."

"And what makes you think I'll—"

"Let's see," Jack interrupted, striking a pose. "I'm the captain, and… I'm the captain. Oh, and _I'm the captain_."

"Jack—"

He fluttered a hand. "It's for your own good, deary. Better the _one_ should be tempted than the many. You're quite the temptation, even dressed as a lad. Or possibly _because_ you're dressed as a lad, to some. Differing tastes an' all."

The hot blood was rising to her cheeks and was not helped by the amused look that raked her before he sauntered away aft. She cursed inwardly, fists balling, and in a half shout began, "I will _not_ – " before realizing it would be impolitic to draw the attention of all the men scurrying about on ship's business. She hurried after Jack, catching up with him at the foot of the companion ladder to the quarterdeck. "_Captain Sparrow!_"

He stopped and turned to her, feigning surprise.

Her voice was low but intense. "What makes you think I'd trust you that far?"

His eyes widened, brows lifting. "Don't you?"

The vehement _No!_ was on the tip of her tongue, but then she stopped, remembering what she'd told her father. Remembering that a year ago she'd been dancing 'round a driftwood fire with this man, drunk on hope, moonlight, and a little rum, too, for form's sake. They'd been alone, entirely alone. And he'd barely touched her.

There was no other answer. "Yes."

He inclined his head, graciously accepting her capitulation. "A wise decision, love. There are a number of new hands aboard, best we get to know 'em some before we… er… _fraternize_."

She nodded dully.

"And that Norrington." Jack shook his head as he began mounting the steps.

She narrowed her eyes. "What about him?"

"Just that I wouldn't trust him any further than I could throw him, is all."

Indignation welled up. "Jack, James is—"

"—shifty-eyed, desperate and, in case you've forgotten, bloody has it in for pirates." He gained the quarterdeck, turned to look down on her, and added, with a grin and a wink, "Even the extremely pretty ones."

~.~


	138. Theme: Black

_**~ Resurrection ~**_

The small eyes narrowed and lost focus on the here and now; the monstrous head tilted back, emanating power.

Jack looked to the sea and it seemed to simmer, then boil, and then, to his horror and wonder the tip of her mainmast appeared and climbed, then dripping spars and shredded sails; more spars as her foremast ascended, higher, higher; then her ornate taffrail, her bowsprit, and finally the deck, and then her whole hull, rising up, water gushing from her ports and scuppers.

And she was black. Every inch of her.

Jack's heart bled the same color she'd once been, that rich, shining red, her gingerbread trim picked out in gold leaf. Gone. All gone. Red like the flames that had consumed and charred her old life, and his own, too. He felt a stinging behind his eyes for their lost innocence, and as he shifted uncomfortably, the pain of the half-healed cuts on his back reemphasized Beckett's perfidy.

"Thirteen years, Sparrow," said Jones, gloating. "You've thirteen years to sail your _Wicked Wench_. No more."

But… "Not the _Wench_," Jack said, his voice low but steady, to his relief. "She's my _pearl of great price_, now.

My _Black Pearl._"

~.~


	139. Theme: Aztec Gold

This longish drabble was written for my dear niece, who requested a fic featuring Madame Tortuga Loca way back in 2007, when we first saw her at the _At World's End_ red carpet premier at Disneyland. My niece says: "This little lady billed herself as Madame Tortuga Loca and claims to have taught Tia Dalma everything that she knows! She was FANTASTIC! She was covered in everything from a wash-board to knitting needles. She made bracelets and predictions. She even gave away foreign currency to those who could tell her the country of origin like our friend Melissa could! She was definitely my favorite of all of the pre-Red Carpet entertainment!"

* * *

_**~ Madame Tortuga Loca ~**_

"You! Jack Sparrow!"

The terrible, raggedy old woman pointed a bony finger, tremulous with emotion.

Jack, who'd spent the night indulging in a variety of the many vices Tortuga had to offer, blinked in the pale pre-dawn light and wrinkled his nose a bit at the faintly noxious scents of musty magick and mildew that emanated from the lady, but said, politely, "G'mornin', Madame. You're up late—" He lifted a hand and staggered a bit as the first rays of the sun broke over the horizon, horrifyingly brilliant. "—or early, apparently."

She narrowed her eyes, and shook the bony finger at him with some vehemence. "_Aztec Gold_, Jack Sparrow. I heard you last night, telling those who'd listen how you be going after the treasure of Cortez. Don't do it! Don't do it, I say!"

Before Jack could do more than frown, Barbossa sauntered up beside him. "This flea-bitten old hag botherin' you, Jack? Maybe a morning swim in the harbor would do her some good."

Madame Tortuga Loca might barely reach Jack's shoulder, but when she drew herself up straight like that and set her fierce, somewhat rheumy gaze on one, as she was doing now to Hector, she was surprisingly formidable. "You dare!" she hissed at him, then turned to Jack again. "This how you treat a lady? This how you treat one who warns you 'gainst evil?"

Jack, who only wanted his bed, with perhaps a hair of the dog beforehand, sighed and said, "Now Madame, that's only old Hector's feeble idea of a joke. And we know about the curse, no worries, we'll be careful."

Madame shook her head. "You go after that gold, you never see it, not for ten years. Ten years you will long for treasure, and when it finally comes you will be cursed, body and soul, the curse of a good man."

Jack, sensing Hector smirking beside him, scowled at the old woman. "Just because I helped you that once—"

"Once and once and once – they all add up to the one thing."

Jack's scowl was more like a grimace now, and when Hector reiterated, "Chuck 'er in the harbor, Captain?" Jack was almost inclined to agree.

But she said to Barbossa, in a terrible, portentous voice, "You see the Isla de Muerta, Hector Barbossa, you will not escape the living death. You, and those that go with you."

Jack brightened at that. "Well, there you go, ma'am. You can't have it both ways. If Hector sees it, I'll see it, too, bein' the captain, so it's rubbish, basically, ain't it? I'd check your herbs and potions if I was you – something's gone a bit moldy, maybe."

She goggled in (thankfully wordless) exasperation.

Much more the sort of reaction Jack was used to when dealing with women. He smiled and bowed. "Good day, to you, Madame. Come, Hector, let's be off. Time an' tide and all that—and treasure, too. Bring me that horizon!"

~.~


End file.
